


Otherside

by GoodbyeBabylon



Series: Rx for the Hurt [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bathtub Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Face-Fucking, Facials, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hand Jobs, How Do I Tag, Low-Key Romantic, M/M, Not Beta Read, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Milking, References to Drugs, Unrequited Love, breathplay?, thigh-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodbyeBabylon/pseuds/GoodbyeBabylon
Summary: Spoiler Alerts: Vague spoilers for S3, S4, S5 and then pretty serious spoilers for S6“House,” Wilson muttered, rubbing at his eyes and blinking blearily as he shifted up in bed, and House merely slipped into the younger man’s body-warmed nest of covers like he belonged. “What’re you doing? Did you have a nightmare?” And Jimmy’s tone probably should have been more mocking at that but as it was, he just sounded like he was still trying to wake up. “Is it your leg?” Genuine concern filtered into his sleep-roughened voice, and it pulled House closer to the oncologist.“Not the leg, Jimmy,” he breathed, reaching for the younger man – who looked startled, frozen in place. House wouldn’t have believed he was breathing if he couldn’t feel the expanse of the oncologist’s ribs at the inhale as he slid a hand along Wilson’s side. If he couldn’t feel the soft exhale as House tipped his head forward slowly enough that Wilson was more than able to stop it.Or ... Jimmy buys House an organ, but not so he'll like play with Wilson's organ. Okay ... maybe so he'll play with Wilson's organ just a little.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Series: Rx for the Hurt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941922
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	Otherside

**Author's Note:**

> Holy *fuck* - 3 days after my self-appointed deadline, running on a 3 hour powernap with a pot and a half of coffee in my guts and roughly the last 30 hours spent straight writing/editing/re-evaluating to get this finished I feel pretty alright leaving this here. In my defense, it got away from me because my mind apparently wanted to explore non-penetrative sex more fully. So, there's that.
> 
> I fucking *hate* tags. Tried to get everything, but like with the editing process something probably slipped through.

The past few years . . . _Christ_ – they had been terrible. Just another reminder that he wasn’t allowed nice things; that that possibly there, fucked up God had it out for him personally. And, by simple association, one James Wilson as well.

House took a sip of his beer, sitting on that _stupidly perfect_ couch in their _stupidly perfect_ living room and staring at nothing in particular. Well no, that wasn’t right. He was staring at that organ _. A Hammond B-3_. The _only_ thing that hadn’t been transferred from the glossy pages of an issue of _Better Homes and Gardens_ to their – _their_ – apartment. And what had he done to deserve _that_? Because the last few years had proven that House was just a miserable asshole, that Wilson could _never_ be happy with him.

Tritter had proved that.

The cop had had it out for House, definitely. And once more, by association, Wilson. As though if Tritter had chipped at Jimmy enough, that House would have broken. And maybe he would have, but Wilson was always stronger than people gave him credit for. A profession spent telling people they were dying had thickened his hide much more than his expensive skin care regime and blow-dried hair alluded to.

Because for all his pretty boy looks, the younger man had only huffed in exasperation when his bank account had been frozen, when his car had been impounded – lips pursing in irritation, but never anger as he cut a glare in House’s direction. And House had been ashamed, sure . . . but he hadn’t been about to back down. And only when Tritter had messed with Wilson’s ability to _help his patients_ had the oncologist tried to build bridges between House and that dirtbag cop instead of helping him actively burn them.

But it had hurt, because it just showed House yet another way that people – _Jimmy specifically_ – over pills hadn’t been enough . . . even if the younger man had had a point. But House hadn’t been able to push things aside and admit when he’d done wrong, really hadn’t ever, and Wilson had known that. Had known and still tried to cram him into that box created by society. And if he’d thought about that overly much, sitting there on Christmas and thinking about a Jew who loved the holiday far more than he ought to, with way too much Vicodin and bourbon in his system . . . well, who could blame him.

And he could still remember that edge of disgust at the corner of Jimmy’s mouth, rimming his eyes as Wilson pulled House over and found his bottle of nicked pills. He could see the disappointment there clearly. And if it driven him to repent, to throw himself at Tritter’s mercy, well . . . he’d certainly never tell Jimmy that. Even if it hadn’t worked, and it had taken so many more lies to get it all straightened out in the end. But still – _but still_ – Wilson had stayed.

But House had been made to be miserable, and as Cuddy had said, he’d been made to make those around him worse in the end. And the terrible things he had done to the younger man hadn’t ended there. If anything, it had escalated.

Amber had proved that.

The blonde who had managed to capture and hold the oncologist’s constantly roving attention – a proxy of House that was more acceptable by the nice trappings of society that Wilson wrapped himself up in because it was expected. And that had hurt a bit more than he had expected it to. But still that realization had punched into him, choked him.

Because House had come to expect, to almost accept the rotation of women in Jimmy’s life. That’s what one did when they loved someone, wasn’t it? Want them to be happy, even if wasn’t with them? But Wilson had chosen someone Just Like House. And it had crushed him. Because Amber had been manipulative and cut-throat and intelligent, hadn’t needed Jimmy in a conventional way, had understood the give and the take between House and Wilson. And she had found her way into the younger man’s bed, his life in a way that House hadn’t been able to . . . didn’t matter if that was House’s own doing or not.

It had been tragic – the stupidly besotted look Jimmy gave her, that she returned. But more so, it had been tragic that House had been so damn _jealous_ , so damn _angry_ about it. Because there was that possibly there, fucked up God showing him that Wilson could be happy with someone like him. No, not _could be_ – that he _was_ happy with someone like House. That was the bitch of the situation. Wilson had been happy with Amber, a House with bits that didn’t dangle.

But that twisted, possible deity had deemed it fate that that happiness be torn from the oncologist. All because of House – because he really had been made for ruining things. And how many times since then had House wondered why it hadn’t been him that had died – as he laid awake in bed and listened to Wilson whisper to Amber in the middle of the night, tone tight and watery. Why hadn’t that maybe God let Jimmy have his more acceptable House and that sharp-sweet happiness.

He finished his beer and leaned forward, elbows pressed to knees, and really stared at that hulking mass of wood and metal, of strings and keys. His fingers itched. Wilson saw him, _knew_ him . . . even after all he had done to the younger man, either through deliberate not-quite-malice or through casual disregard. His mind filtered through more memories.

His dad had died, and Wilson had been there – albeit begrudgingly, but then more genuinely. House had gone to rehab, and Wilson had been there. And once he’d gotten out, Wilson had been there – giving him a place to stay once more, caring for him. Time and time again, Jimmy had been there. No, it was more than that. Because yeah, Wilson had been there . . . but he’d also reached out time and time again, even when it resulted in him getting burned. That fucking weed in his chest bloomed pitifully, stretching for his throat as if it felt sunshine.

Because Wilson had bought them a _home_.

Not only that, Wilson had deliberately snatched the apartment out from under Cuddy because she had hurt House. And the sight of the younger man in that empty apartment, sliding back on the island and gracing him with a smile that came dangerously close to smug, House had been unable to push those blooms away.

How had House ever thought that Cuddy would ever be an adequate replacement for Wilson anyway? Because while both brunettes were pretty, Jimmy had more than enough of a bite to be interesting, to manipulate House without threatening his job or spreading his legs – though that last bit was always nice. And his mind offered up a hundred nights spent with Wilson – tangled up and sweaty, breathless; the languid intimacy that followed after.

Because it had always been Jimmy, hadn’t it. Since all those years ago – in a smoky Louisiana bar, where _Leave A Tender Moment Alone_ played on loop and soft-spoken, fresh-faced Jimmy had screamed to be heard over the din. Where dear, sweet Jimmy had smashed a bottle into an antique mirror, had thrown a punch or two.

 _It had always been Jimmy_.

Which had made the whole thing with Nora all that much worse – because she had been a festering sore in the dampness of his chest. The glint in Jimmy’s eyes as he talked about her, the interest there – and of course House had needed to step in. _Of course_ he had needed to show the younger man that only he was a stable fixture in Wilson’s life. He had had to show Wilson that for all the pretty women, or men, the oncologist might catch sight of that only House would stay. But still, the way Jimmy had sunk to his knee, had held out that velvet ring box, had said _I love this man_ had made his heart clench pitifully, and all House’s mind had drawn were blanks.

In the end, it had proved to House just how compatible they were. Because Wilson had risen tit for tat, as he always did when pushed too far. Because instead of leaving, the younger man had doubled down and buckled in and met House head on.

Because it had always been Jimmy.

House shoved himself upward off the sofa and limped his way down the hall. He lingered outside Wilson’s almost-closed door, his palm pressing against the wood in almost apprehension. His heart was lodged somewhere in his throat, and he could just barely hear the younger man breathe. The hinges softly creaked as House pushed the door open and he limped slowly across the floor. There was a brief moment of suddenly rethinking everything, right up until that disheveled head lifted from its pillow. And the sudden _rightness_ of it swooped into him.

“House,” Wilson muttered, rubbing at his eyes and blinking blearily as he shifted up in bed, and House merely slipped into the younger man’s body-warmed nest of covers like he belonged. “What’re you doing? Did you have a nightmare?” And Jimmy’s tone probably should have been more mocking at that but as it was, he just sounded like he was still trying to wake up. “Is it your leg?” Genuine concern filtered into his sleep-roughened voice, and it pulled House closer to the oncologist.

“Not the leg, Jimmy,” he breathed, reaching for the younger man – who looked startled, frozen in place. House wouldn’t have believed he was breathing if he couldn’t feel the expanse of the oncologist’s ribs at the inhale as he slid a hand along Wilson’s side. If he couldn’t feel the soft exhale as House tipped his head forward slowly enough that Wilson was more than able to stop it.

Instead, Jimmy made a soft, broken noise as their lips slotted together. And how was it _fair_ that after all those nights apart, that they still fit perfectly together. That they still knew each other, as Wilson’s fingers dug down into his hair and his mouth tipped up, lips opening in invitation. And House’s fingers were digging into the soft skin – just as soft as he remembered – of the oncologist’s back as he licked into Jimmy’s mouth. The younger man tasted like mint as their tongues tangled together. He groaned, tugging at Jimmy as he tried to get them closer. House reached for the elastic of Wilson’s boxers, fingers brushing at the impossibly soft skin there before capable hands curled around his.

“Wait.” And House froze, turning to press his face to Jimmy’s throat and breathe in that somehow still heart-wrenchingly familiar scent of sandalwood-lavender, of cardamom-leather. “Is this . . . is this because of the organ?” Wilson started to pull away from him. “Greg. I didn’t buy it so you would, uh. Play with my organ?” And it took quite literally everything House had to not roll his entire face.

“Well duh. I’m easier than that,” House scoffed instead, laying biting kisses along Wilson’s throat. “And so are you.” He pulled his teeth along a bobbing Adam’s apple before pulling back to regard the younger man cautiously. Because of course Jimmy was twisted enough to think that House had crept into his bed as a _thank you_. Or rather, he thought House was twisted enough to offer it as a _thank you_.

Those dark eyes regarded him curiously, blinking sleepily but House could see that hungry want edging darkly in those cold espresso irises. And whatever Wilson might have been thinking, whatever better judgment he might have planned on using, House aborted that notion as he slid his right leg over Jimmy’s hip in one of the better positions for things like that when his thigh was a wreck. The shift of it pulled him in until they pressed together tentatively, fighting against the instinct to just grind their hips together to completion. Wilson’s hand spread over that scar, thumb rubbing down through thin pajama pants and boxers. House shuffled closer again, letting their hips rock together almost aimlessly. Because it was good, it was _right_ as Jimmy tipped his head into House’s neck with a moan, as his fingers dug into his skin, as they moved together in a primordial chase of pleasure.

Unlike his dear, panty-peeler friend, House had somewhat abstained the last few years – and as such, he hardened almost embarrassingly fast with that lazy movement of their hips. But in his defense, there had only been that bit with Stacy . . . and a handful of hookers after, not to mention his hand. His bed had certainly not been a nest of sexual activity with the nursing staff, various patrons from bars, and one cut-throat bitch. No, that had been Wilson’s bed. But House had found himself there in the end.

Fingers curled in his hair, tugging House’s head down sharply for yet another kiss. Teeth scored at his bottom lip before a possessive tongue bullied its way into his mouth. House hummed his approval low in his throat, tilting closer as their tongues knotted together wetly. His palm smoothed along Wilson’s chest, cataloging soft skin and hard bone before slipping around to press between Jimmy’s shoulder blades, fingertips and nails bearing down into yielding flesh. Which the oncologist took that for the wordless demand it had been as his hand slipped up along House’s thigh to grip at his hip, pulling House’s hips toward him more roughly in search of more pressure. House could feel it singing in his veins, a slow burn that consumed from the inside out. He groaned into the kiss, pressing his mouth closer frantically because he _needed._

“This is a bad idea,” Wilson breathed against his lips, even as the younger man shuffled closer, his fingers curling around the waistband of House’s pajamas and tugging like the elastic was a handhold. Which, it kind of was, pulling House snuggly against Jimmy’s body, slotting their legs together.

“I’m full of those,” he muttered, wondering why he hadn’t kicked the flimsy pants off before he’d gotten in between the other’s sheets. It would be pretty difficult for him to shuck those off with _out_ killing the mood. But before House could get stuck in those thoughts, Wilson huffed out an amused breath as his hand slid up under House’s shirt. Blunt nails scratched through the wiry hair there before Jimmy’s broad palm flattened over his sternum and pushed gently. He could ignore wanting to look sexy if Wilson kept on manhandling him like that. And House let himself go, flopping back onto the mattress with an exasperated puff. His body felt cold after the burning heat of Wilson pressed up against him. Not that it lasted long as the younger man slotted between House’s legs, their hips rocking together lazily as Jimmy kissed along his neck. Fingers pushed through the hair at the back of his skull and tugged, forcing House to tip his head back with a breathy moan. And there was that sharp-sweet hurt as Wilson dragged his teeth along his throat and his lips soothed that hurt with sucking kisses. A warm palm pushed down along his side, clutching at his hip as the younger man ground his hips down. It was instinct really, to meet that pressure, to rock up into it with a gasp. And really, all the layers of fabric weren’t doing much. The thin sleep pants, the thinner boxers didn’t soften the hard jut of Jimmy’s cock in even the slightest where it pressed up against his incessantly, and it sent arousal flooding into his guts.

His fingers anchored in Jimmy’s thick hair, curling tightly as Wilson’s thighs spread his agonizingly gently. The younger man pulled away just long enough to tug off what House suspected was merely his undershirt. House took that for his own cue, struggling out of his tee before reaching for Wilson once more. His palms smoothed along the younger man’s side, fingers hooking on the hard lines of bone and tugging. And Jimmy went with an amused huff, tipping down to press House into the mattress. The hot, heavy weight of the oncologist bore into him, grounded him as their lips crushed together. And the feel of skin on skin choked a groan from his chest, as House dug fingers down into Wilson’s back and pulled as his hips canted up into the younger man’s weight. The unhurried push-pull of their hips rendered him breathless, House’s hips tipping up to encourage more of that contact with an almost whine. Not that it mattered as Wilson swallowed that noise, licked all remnants of it lewdly from the corners of House’s mouth. House slipped a hand up into that heavy hair and pulled, sliding his tongue along Jimmy’s with every intent of kissing the oncologist until their lungs ran dry.

“How do you want me,” Wilson muttered, pulling back just out of kissing range. And his eyes were impossibly dark, his pupils blown wide as he peered down at House. Making such a pretty picture that it physically hurt. His dark hair had been pulled further into disarray by House’s possessive fingers, sticking up endearingly, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips kiss bruised. And there were seemingly a million possible answers to Jimmy’s question, with the first and foremost being _for always_ but House hadn’t crawled into Jimmy’s bed to offer up devotion.

At least, not verbally anyway.

And when his tongue didn’t seem willing to cooperate, Wilson took to rocking their hips together and looking at him so openly and expectantly that it dug an ache in his chest. Because what had he done to garner that trust. His heart cinched, demanded _everything_ of Jimmy but House merely tipped his head back for a kiss, which Jimmy gave him. Something tenderhearted and careful, as if the younger man was worried he’d spook House.

“Whatever you want,” House finally managed to croak out as that curious mouth moved along his jaw, and careful teeth nibbled at his earlobe.

Wilson huffed an almost-laugh against his throat, laying damply pulling kisses along his pulse. “So, like this is fine?” _Like_ _this_ being still halfway clothed, just rocking together. Which was nice enough but decidedly not what House wanted. Because House wanted the filthy grind of their lengths together, brand-hot and precum-slick. He wanted Jimmy’s deft fingers digging down into his flesh as their mouths panted against each other and the younger man came apart for him. He wanted the feel of Jimmy’s spend on him, a primitive claim to House’s body. The want choked him where it knotted under his ribs.

“I mean, skin to skin is preferable,” he panted out, tipping his hips up into the lazy motion of Wilson’s hips. A traitorous little moan crawled out of him as teeth bit down at the crook of his neck. The warm palm smoothing along his side, the blunt nails scratching at his skin sent goosebumps scattering along his spine. The feel of it sparked at his neurons, making his cock twitch eagerly in his loose sleep pants as Jimmy gave a particularly indecent grind.

“Is it?” That hot mouth sucked along his collarbone before Wilson pulled back and gave him a puckish grin. “Don’t want to cum in your pants like a teenager?” _That fucking tease._ House scoffed, letting his fingers curl around the waistband of the younger man’s boxers, feeling a little proud at the way the thin fabric tented obscenely. His thumb drew along Jimmy’s clothed erection, nail scraping through the cotton and making Wilson’s dick twitch against his touch. That was because of _him_. And House wanted that big dick in him, wedged in his guts as Wilson did his best to bend him in ways inconceivable for a man House’s age just to fuck him harder, deeper, better. He popped the elastic softly against Wilson’s skin and leered up at the oncologist.

“That your way of saying you don’t want to fuck me?” He pouted. “Oh, Jimmy. That hurts.”

Wilson’s eyes managed to darken further as though House’s words were pulling him down heavily to crush their mouths together. Lips busted open as Jimmy licked into his mouth filthily, grinding their hips together so aggressively that it choked a whimper from his chest. His dick jumped at that pressure, and yeah, the thin layers of fabric _really_ weren’t hiding anything. There was the indecent feeling of Jimmy’s hard length sliding along his, arresting his higher brain functions. But then Wilson was pulling away, and House could see the wet spot growing there on his boxers, darkening the fabric before the younger man crawled across the bed. House blinked a few times before his mind rattled into gear – helped along by the sound of the bedside table’s drawer wheezing open – and he kicked his pajamas and boxers off frantically. His cock slapped lightly against his stomach as the elastic pulled free, leaving a wet kiss of precum against his skin that managed to be hotter than it had any right to be. Sucking in a breath, House gripped the base of his dick and squeezed, because cumming before Jimmy was in him was absolutely _unforgivable_. His hips rolled up slightly, House’s eyes drifting shut as his palm did an instinctual stroke along his shaft before he stopped himself with a huffed-out breath. He forced his eyes open, glancing over to see what the hold up was, but there was Jimmy staring at him hungrily. House couldn’t help himself, as he stroked his length lazily, watching Wilson watch him. He could see that pretty dick twitching in Wilson’s boxers, the wet stain growing as Jimmy leaked. House couldn’t quite swallow back the wanting noise that crawled out of his throat as he squeezed his cock, head tipping back because he couldn’t keep watching that hungry thing on Jimmy’s open face.

“Please,” he huffed out, his hips twitching upward in search of friction.

Then Jimmy was crawling back between his legs, dropping the bottle of lube beside him as the younger man pushed at his own boxers and his mouth claimed House’s aggressively. He moaned into it, sucking on Jimmy’s tongue as it fucked into his mouth. And House could feel the fabric slipping down to puddle in the ditches of the younger man’s knees before Wilson managed to kick them away and bore down on him, all while kissing House desperately. Which that was pretty impressive. Right up until the moment Jimmy’s hips rolled downward, and there was that slick, velvet-steel glide of their cocks together, choking a groan from his chest as House’s hips jerked up. Which was impressive in its own, far more important right. Jimmy balanced himself on his forearm as their hips rutted together. The younger man’s breath was damp and hot, ragged where it panted against the curls of his ear, and there were those fucking goosebumps again as House’s hips jerked impatiently.

“You’re sure,” the younger man had the audacity to ask, his hand spreading hotly along the cut of House’s hip. His thumb rubbed slow circles against the jut of bone, nail trailing along stretched skin.

“Unless you’re not.” But Wilson had already reached for the bottle of lube, popping the top open with his thumb.

The sight of Wilson spreading lube on his fingers spread heat in House’s guts. He pulled the younger man down for another kiss, their lips splitting and tongues curling together messily as Jimmy’s hot weight pressed him down. Fingers smeared stickily along his inner thigh and House rushed to spread his legs even further, his hips canting upward in invitation. The brand-hot feel of Jimmy’s dick sliding along his inner thigh, smearing precum along his skin, had his writhing in the sheets like some pathetic mess and that was more than _fine_. House would gladly embarrass himself if only Wilson would fuck him already. He could feel Wilson’s smile where their lips pressed together messily before Jimmy pulled back. The younger man flattened his palm on the mattress beside House’s head, Wilson’s body curving as his fingers dragged along House’s cleft before his fingertips rubbed an idle circle around his rim.

Even in the shadow-filled room, House could see how the younger man’s eyes darkened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward slightly with something like affection. And for a startling second, House thought Jimmy would tell him how much the oncologist had missed _this._ That he had missed them sharing a bed, their bodies searching for pleasure together. But instead, Wilson dipped his head and pressed light kisses to his mouth, teeth tugging at his bottom lip before a hot tongue pressed between his teeth to lick filthily sweet into his mouth. House groaned, his hand knotting in Wilson’s thick hair and pulling, his hips canting upward in want because _Lord how he wanted_.

House pulled his mouth open, eagerly leaning into the kiss with passion and too much teeth and a sloppy tongue as his other hand dug heavily in between Wilson’s shoulders. He squirmed on the sheets as Jimmy pressed teasingly at his rim, a slick fingertip breaching tight muscles before pulling back to rub lightly at the furled skin. The whine choked itself from his chest, and the younger man swallowed it down as House canted his hips backward, chasing after that pressure. Then that fingertip was back, sinking past muscle up to the first knuckle and choking the breath from his lungs before Wilson pulled back, crooking and tugging at his rim before slipping free again to rub a comforting circle along the furled muscle. Again and again and again until House’s whole fucking _world_ had narrowed to that sole finger fucking into him, easing him open and winding him up. And the feeling of that finger once more fucking into him teasingly was so much and _clearly_ _not enough_ as House panted and whined impatiently.

Part of him wanted to snap at the younger man, to demand quick and rough preparation and for Jimmy to be bottoming out in him in the next five minutes or to let House head to his own room with his own hands and his own toys. But a bigger part of him wanted that excruciatingly slow preparation, the way Wilson teased him up and worked him open before fucking him hard and deep. So, his fingers tugged harder in Jimmy’s hair as his head tilted back in entreaty as Wilson pulled back, his fingertip smoothing along the clench of his rim once more. And really, he couldn’t keep that petulant whine in. House could feel the other’s amused huff of breath along his throat as dry lips worked their way down the column of his neck - all slick tongue and sharp teeth. Then that finger was back, slipping in deep until House could feel Wilson’s bent knuckles pressing against his perineum as the finger crooked and twisted and fucked into him more roughly. His breath huffed out of him, his hips jerking up and back with a choked-off gasp as the younger man found his prostrate and rubbed roughly. And there was that friction, his hard dick smearing, grinding lovingly against Wilson’s stomach and make him moan. Jimmy’s mouth buried in the crook of his neck, teeth and tongue and soft lips worrying at the thin skin there just shy of marking him.

That finger disappeared, and House coughed out a snarl of a whine, baring his teeth at the younger man as he pulled back from House all together. A devious smile cut its way across Wilson’s lips as two fingers screwed into him, and House’s head fell back, his hips lifting and all his muscles humming at that sudden burn. Those digits fucked into him, spreading against clenching muscles and tugging at his rim and _Christ was it good_. The younger man just barely fucked into him, holding him open, and that burn was indecent and everything House wanted. House whimpered as those fingers fucked deeper, finding his prostrate with unerring accuracy, rubbing it pointedly in a way that was clearly connected to his cock as it jumped and leaked in time with those touches. He dragged Wilson’s face back to his neck, knowing the oncologist could feel the vibrations of the whimpers and moans trapped in his throat as Jimmy pressed soft kisses along the twitching tendons of his esophagus. The younger man hummed along the thin skin, his fingers holding House open as his clever fingers took him apart and built him up all at once. He was non-stop leaking, could feel it where the viscous precum smeared along Jimmy’s stomach, his cock twitching in anticipation as the foreskin pulled tight along his glans as House jerked his hips against that touch. That sharp-sweet pleasure took his breath away. House’s fingers curved, his nails digging into the smooth expanse of the younger man’s back as Wilson’s fingertips pressed and smoothed along his prostate. House gasped in a breath, his hips grinding back on that pressure as Wilson nipped and sucked along his collarbone. And the noise that cracked out of his chest was something like a wordless plea but they both ignored it. 

Suddenly those fingers were pulling free – despite his muscles doing their damnedest to suck them back in – as Jimmy leaned over him, pulling a pillow from behind House’s head. House drew his fingertips along the younger man’s length, cataloging the velvet-steel touch of it, the slick dribble of precum drooling along the underside and following the thick vein there. Wilson dipped his head to press a nipping kiss to House’s lips as he slipped the pillow under House’s knee, propping up his wrecked thigh. Jimmy was infuriatingly considerate even as his hips jerked forward, languidly following House’s touch.

“Let’s Clone-A-Willy,” House quipped, ignoring the blossom of want in his guts as his fingers curled along Wilson’s pretty cock and pulled, feeling arousal settle heavily in him at that hard length slipping slickly through his fingers. He tightened his fingers, giving Jimmy a tight circle to fuck into as House twisted his palm. Wilson’s hips rocked more firmly into that touch, his breathing heavy and slow where it ghosted along House’s cheeks and lips. House carded his fingers through the younger man’s hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched before he stroked his fingers down along that pretty cock, his fingers loosening and tightening as his palm moved with real intent.

“Yeah,” the younger man tried to tease, but his tone was already slipping downward into a rough rumble of a bedroom octave, his eyes half-closed as he fucked lazily into House’s fist, more than content to let House set the pace. And Jimmy’s voice when it was that warm, oozy fucked-out tone always did things to him, and House tightened his fingers, twisting around the flared tip. He tipped his head up, nipping at those soft lips until Wilson pressed their mouths together in an approximation of a kiss. Messy and open as they shared damp, warm breath.

“For when the nights are long,” House teased, pulling his hand away so he could wallow down in the younger doctor’s bed. Normally he would have wanted a pillow under his hips as well, but that Jimmy had only propped his leg usually meant that Wilson was more than willing to dig fingers into his hip, hold him at the correct angle so the younger man could fuck in relentlessly deep. And _that_ thought managed to choke the breath from him, because that Jimmy was something just shy of reckless, dicking down with the best of them. He tipped his hips up in invitation, his guts twisting as he felt Wilson’s length slide more firmly along the inside of his thigh. It hadn’t been enough prep, but he was admittedly gagging for it – for the feeling of Jimmy’s big dick ploughing into him, forcing its way in deep and making a home for his hard length in the hot clench of House’s body. 

“And your bed is cold,” Wilson continued, his lips smearing hotly along House’s throat as broad hands drifted down along House’s hips, thumbs rubbing up and over the juts of bone. House wiggled a bit, his hips squirming against Jimmy’s palms at that tender touch. His cock bobbed eagerly, twitching along to the thrum of his heartbeat. Somehow that tenderness managed to wring a pearl of precum to his tip, to send it pulling down along his length.

“Mm,” House hummed encouragingly, hooking his hands along the juts of the younger man’s shoulder blades. He pulled Wilson further into the vee of his legs, and the oncologist shuffled forward on his knees. He felt breathless in the best possible way, the want of it cloyingly thick and choking in his chest as House watched Jimmy hobble closer. Arousal bloomed way down deep in his guts, twisting and coiling hotly as Wilson’s arms folded alongside his head, elbows bending as Jimmy settled his weight slowly along House’s. The younger man’s body blanketed him, all hot and heavy as skin pressed delightfully to skin. His fingers slipped through Wilson’s heavy hair, tugging gently as his hips canted upward. And the feel of Jimmy’s lovely cock pressing against his hole was something like a match to gasoline. It was entirely too much, and exactly not enough. His other hand slipped down to dig into Wilson’s lower back, his fingertips digging down around the younger man’s vertebrae. The sharp spines of bone barbed around his digits, sticking him in place. House tipped his head up, offering his mouth up for kisses. Which Wilson obliged, dipped down to press breathless, hot kisses to House’s lips. He tugged Jimmy in for more thorough kisses, as the younger man licked lazily into his mouth. The heat of it punched into him sharply. Jimmy’s length rubbed along the cleft of his ass, sliding slickly along in a parody of fucking him as the younger man’s hips jerked forward haphazardly. The slick slide of precum along his skin had his hips jerking upward, pressing more thoroughly into the pressure of Wilson’s dick against him. His breath caught as he jerked instinctively into the grind of Jimmy’s hips as the younger man pressed House’s thighs open wider, his working leg sliding up along the thickness of Wilson’s thigh. 

“You’re sure,” Wilson repeated, the _tease_ , as his hips dipping down to grind filthily against House’s and Jimmy smeared his lips along House’s throat, sucking and nipping along the thin skin. The oncologist’s hips jerked forward, and House groaned at the feel of his slick tip sliding lewdly along Wilson’s skin.

“Unless you’re not,” he grumbled, nails bearing down into muscle and flesh in an attempt to pull the younger man more fully against him. Because that hot glide of Jimmy’s dick sliding against his entrance was good, in a teasing way, and House was done being teased. He tugged again, his hips rolling upward impatiently. Which merely served to pull an amused huff of breath from Jimmy’s chest as those palms tightened along his hips. Blunt fingers dug into the meat of his ass as Wilson moved impossibly closer.

And already his hips were tipping upward in welcome, his muscles drawing up tight to pull himself into an inviting curve – not that House would _ever_ admit to that. And of course, there was Wilson being accommodating, his big hands spreading across House’s hips and pulling him into place. His stomach shouldn’t have swooped, but there it was freefalling into space. Because there was the barest glimpses of pressure, of Wilson’s dick pressing against the furl of his entrance in what was a blatant tease. Especially if the twist of a smile Jimmy gave him was any indication. It still managed to choke an appreciative, impatient noise from his chest. House tried to twist back, gasping at that slight burn of Wilson’s pretty dick almost, _almost_ , breaching his rim. But Wilson’s fingers tightened around his hips, and House wasn’t in the best position to keep pressing back against the younger man. He lifted his head, ready to bitch and moan at the oncologist, but there was Jimmy reaching between them, slicking lube on that pretty cock, and House’s head thumped back into the pillows in relief. And whoever had said to just lie back and think of England clearly hadn’t been having sex with Wilson, or the right people period because _that was something_ and he _definitely_ wouldn’t have been able to keep his mind trained on England even if he had wanted to. Not as that sweet-sharp burn sunk down into his hips as his body struggled against the slow onslaught of Wilson pushing into him with steady pressure, leaving his muscles to clench and grasp at that _glorious_ cock. And as much as House made the conscious effort to relax as much as possible, it definitely hadn’t been enough prep and he had totally forgotten that mounting pressure threatening to split him in two as Jimmy kept up the cold-honey slowness of the downward slide. His mouth broke open around a pant, and his lungs couldn’t get enough air as his back arched, the muscles of his functional thigh flexing. His fingers dug down hard into the skin of the younger man’s back, and he could feel the flesh bunch under his nails, the blood collecting there. And he might have wheezed out a word – he couldn’t be sure.

Because _Christ_ he’d forgotten all about that fucking size kink. And while Jimmy’s dick had felt big in his hand, fingers barely fitting around it, lodged in his ass Wilson felt fucking _huge_. House gasped for breath, tilting his hips back against that slow downward slide, and it suspiciously sounded like _please_ to his own ears. Wilson’s fingers had curled sharply around his hips, digging in hard and _fuck_ House hoped for bruises. He was pretty sure he could feel the thump of Jimmy’s heart in his dick, lodged way down deep in his guts as the younger man bottomed out. And breathing wasn’t a thing, as his muscles all wound up and clenched, fluttered against that hard length wedge in his guts like PVC pipe.

“Alright,” Wilson panted, his lips splitting over House’s throat in an infuriatingly hot tangle of sharp teeth and soft lips and damp breath. And honestly, House probably needed a moment, as his body clenched vise-like along Wilson’s length. But instead, his hand burrowed in Jimmy’s hair and tightened, his hips jerking up against that heavy press as his throat hummed with the whimper caught there.

“Jimmy,” he managed to pant out, which definitely was caught between something that sounded a lot like begging and brattily demanding as he rolled his hips again. But who could blame him because Wilson’s lovely cock was slowly pulling back, even as House’s muscles clenched even harder in an attempt to keep the younger man right in place. And the little rocking thrusts forward took him _apart_ , as Wilson nipped hotly at his throat and his fingers dug into House’s skin.

He was _definitely_ going to have bruises House realized, as Wilson’s blunt fingers dug hard into his hip, the younger man’s thumb digging down into the crease of his groin and his hips did an obscene grind, and House hadn’t _quite_ realized how much he had missed that move right up until that moment. He flung his arm around the oncologist’s shoulders, pulling their bodies together almost awkwardly with Jimmy’s chest sticking to his and the younger man’s face buried against his neck. But House needed something to hold on to as Wilson’s motions picked up speed gradually. And _Christ_ he wished that the punched-out pants and strung-out whimpers breathed damply into Jimmy’s ear were exaggerated, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Because that was _definitely_ a moan being dragged from the dark, dank recesses of his chest as Wilson shifted, his legs spreading as he pulled House further up to meet him. Jimmy folded over him, a hand planting beside House’s head amid the bed clothes. And Jesus _fuck_ that angle was absolute fucking _love_ as the oncologist pushed forward, his hips pressing insistently forward until the younger man bottomed out. His muscles clenched heavy and sharp along Jimmy’s length. His body was bent in the absolute best way for Wilson to thrust in deep and grind filthily. Wilson rocked impossibly deeper into him, House’s hips lifting further.

“Christ,” House breathed out, his hand curling around the point of Wilson’s far shoulder. His back curved inward, his hips tilting backward to encourage the younger man deeper. He really, _really_ couldn’t breathe. His fingers tightened in Wilson’s hair, tugging enthusiastically as House bared his throat more fully. Jimmy’s teeth dragged along his skin, the younger man humming appreciatively as Wilson kissed along the line of his neck.

“Yeah,” Jimmy asked, grinding down against House in a way that made his breath hitch. His back bowed further as his breath punched out of him. House curled his fingers against Wilson’s skin as he ground back on Wilson’s lovely dick. House wagered he could feel it in his throat. And _Christ_ that was good, as his head tipped back into the pillows and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

House shifted his thigh, smoothing it up along the swell of Jimmy’s hip and clenching along the flex of muscle. His body went willingly into the pull of Wilson’s grip. The younger man rolled his hips down into the clench of House’s body, the motion of it an almost absentminded pursuit of orgasm. But _damn_ did it pull his hips upward heavily, sliding his dick wetly along Jimmy’s stomach as his breath caught under his ribs. His fingers sunk down into Wilson’s skin, hooking in encouragement as his nails scrabbled at the younger man’s back.

It was completely different and absolutely the same as all those nights before, as Jimmy’s hips rocked languidly to his. And the feeling of Wilson bottoming out each time still punched House’s breath out of him, forced it past his teeth in a damp tangle of carbon dioxide molecules. Because it was so _funny_ how just knowing he was in love with Jimmy skewed the _whole_ _fucking thing_ as House’s chest cinched tight and arousal and affection bloomed in equal measure in his guts _. Christ, he wanted_. As the younger man buried his face in the crook of House’s neck, his breath panting raggedly along House’s skin, and his thrusts bordered on almost too much. And it wound House up.

Wilson’s hand slipped down to grope at his thigh, pulling House into an even better position for the oncologist to fuck down into him. And House moaned, because there was Jimmy ploughing delightfully across his prostate, nipping at his throat, doing some indecent thing with his hips as Wilson hiked House’s leg up further on his flank. Which _that_ was something, wasn’t it, as his orgasm sparked along his spine and pooled heavily in his hips. His dick twitched, drooling a dribble of precum as his tip smeared along Jimmy’s stomach. He managed to cram his hand down between them, gasping out breathily as his fingers curled around his length. House squeezed at the base of his cock, his entirely body cinching tight around Wilson’s pretty dick as his back swayed up in pleasure and all his muscles pulled taunt. His hips bucked up into the firm circle of his digits, fucking into his fist surely. And Jimmy chased after the clench of his body, fucking up into him and choking House’s breath out of his chest. The slick-slide pull of his precum-slick length against his palm punched into him as House’s foreskin popped over the flared ridge of his glans. Jimmy breathed hotly against his throat, mouthing up toward his ear as the younger man’s fingers curled through House’s and pulled. And _that_ sensation reached down into his guts and _yanked_ at his arousal, making it bloom hot and tight underneath his diaphragm. House sucked in a deep breath, his hips jerking upward into that heavy touch and back into Wilson’s thrust. He groaned, pulling Wilson’s head down further against his throat as his body juddered lazily between the heavy push of Jimmy’s frame and the mattress.

“You’re so good,” Wilson breathed against his skin, the younger man’s fingers digging in down hard into the mattress beside House’s head, balancing Jimmy there above him as the pace of his hips stuttered. And House couldn’t keep from jerking up into the younger man’s touch where Wilson pulled their intertwined fingers quicker along his cock. House groaned, his fingers digging down into Wilson’s skin as he fucked up into their hands.

“Nnh,” he managed to mutter, House’s hips jerking forward into their grasp as his orgasm rippled through him, snapping at his nerves as it coiled tightly around his spine. It was infuriatingly, perfectly breathless as pleasure punched into him and pulled out of him, their fingers milking him through it as Wilson’s hips bore down into House. And his body clamped around the younger doctor’s stupidly perfect dick as Jimmy chased his pleasure in House’s body and cum pooled in the hollow of House’s stomach. Wilson gave one last, almost helpless thrust, grinding against House as he came, panting against House’s throat. And really, House couldn’t stop himself from swallowing hard in an attempt to slow his thundering pulse, as his fingers pulled through Jimmy’s sweat dampened hair. Hot breath flared along his skin before Wilson pressed a kiss to his pulse and huffed an amused sound against his skin before pulling out and flopping onto his back.

“How’s your leg,” Wilson asked, breathing the words out even as his head tipped back into the pillows. And there was that affection once more, curling down sharply into House’s chest. Because how could Jimmy fuck him like that, ask him that as a follow-up, and not expect House to love him so much it fucking hurt. Not that he could tell the younger man that, not as pleasure was still a sticky, languid thing humming in his veins; the afterglow of it burning him up. Instead House just scrubbed a hand over his face and grimaced at the mess on his belly.

“Leg’s fine,” he rasped out. Which was the truth, because all the jostling hadn’t stirred up any extra hurt. The ache of those missing muscles still snarled down absentmindedly along his femur, because how could it not. And Wilson knew that. But the younger man just huffed out another amused sound and rolled off the bed, padding toward the bathroom. And House let his eyes drift closed. He startled at the feeling of Jimmy rubbing a wet cloth along his belly, the wet sound of it plopping onto the bedside table as the younger man climbed into bed with him.

“But,” House started, rolling onto his left side and bending his right leg to rub at his thigh. “If you keep fucking me like that you might encourage muscle regrowth.” He slumped into the feeling of Wilson crowding up along his back. And normally House didn’t like cuddling, but the younger man felt exceptionally good where he curled around House’s frame. Because Wilson was soft and strong and warm, wrapping an arm around House’s abdomen and sliding his leg up into the bend of House’s wrecked thigh.

“Forgot I had a magic dick,” Wilson murmured against his nape, arm squeezing around House’s stomach briefly before relaxing. And House listened to the heavy lull of the younger man’s breathing, letting it relax him toward sleep like some sort of human white noise machine. How had he gone so long without finding himself in Jimmy’s bed?

It felt like only seconds before Wilson’s alarm went off, obnoxiously early. And House groaned, pushing his face further into the pillow as the heat along his back shifted awake. The younger man leaned over him, slapping at the offending machine before pulling away entirely. House listened to the shower run, the hair-dryer blow, the closet doors breathe open. He could see it in his mind, eyes screwed tightly shut as they were. Jimmy was humming softly under his breath, and it was like all those days before.

The stupidly perfect domesticity.

But it felt fragile somehow, like House was some oversized bull trapped in a too-full china shop.

He decided he could ignore that for the time being and pressed his face further into the pillow. He breathed in the scent of Wilson’s shampoo, his cologne and bodywash and let himself drift back toward sleep. His body felt heavy, tired in that delightful fucked-out way. And House barely registered the feeling of fingertips sliding along the exposed jut of his shoulder, the kiss that press against his hair.

The next time House woke up, bright midmorning sunshine had fallen heavily along the floor of Wilson’s bedroom, pooling goldenly in the corner. Groaning, he shoved himself upward and scrubbed palms across his face roughly. His hips ached pleasantly, which only got worse as House got to his feet. He pressed his palm to his thigh and limped his way into the bathroom. And while a bath in Jimmy’s excessive tub the size of a fucking _canoe_ sounded lovely, House was pretty sure he was late enough as it was. So, he opted for a scalding hot shower instead.

By the time he managed to get in office, it was nearing noon and Cuddy was calling for everyone to remain where they were. Which could mean any number of things, and House didn’t think it really applied to him as he continued in the direction of Wilson’s office. Because if he was going to be locked in place, he might as well do it where he could maybe get laid. But then the security guard was yelling at him, and House found himself in a room with a dying man – who was dying because of _him._ Which it wouldn’t have been the first time House had let someone down in such a fatal way, and probably wouldn’t be the last . . . but there was something to be said about him being _locked in the same damn room_.

And House _really_ would rather have been locked in a room with a pretty oncologist, having his dick groped through his jeans while Jimmy licked filthily into his mouth.

Instead, by the time the lockdown had ended, House was feeling worn down and stretched thin as he facilitated a quicker death to a dying man. Popping a couple ibuprofen on his way out the door, House was already making plans to commandeer Wilson’s big tub and have a nice glass of that expensive scotch that Jimmy had hidden way back in the most uppermost corner of the pantry. And maybe, just maybe, he could convince Wilson to rub his leg.

The good thing about the bike was the maneuverability of it, as he darted in and out of traffic like one of those obnoxious assholes he used to bitch and moan about. Back before he’d become one of those obnoxious assholes. But House really couldn’t be bothered to give a damn, because he had a hot bath and a hotter man waiting at home for him, didn’t he. He ignored the bright honk just behind him as he cut an SUV off and disappeared down a side street, twisting the throttle and making a bet with himself that he could be home before six.

Unfortunately, he lost that bet as he climbed into the elevator at ten past. House rubbed his leg and let his body fold back against the elevator wall. And then, there was the door to _their_ place, and the bloom of affection unfurled in his chest. He had to catch the smile before it reached the _stupidly besotted_ phase as he unlocked the door.

“I’m going to take a bath,” House announced as he limped into the living room and dropped his backpack into one of the chairs, startling Wilson where he was sitting on the couch reading.

“Is this information just meant to tell me not to expect to use my bathroom for a few hours, or is that an invitation?” Wilson’s attention, infuriatingly, was still focused on his book as he flipped the page. Which was unfair, because now that _that option_ was out there, House couldn’t really unthink it.

“Water’s a terrible lube,” he quipped with a levity he didn’t really feel, shucking his leather jacket and dropping it over his backpack.

“You know we have a hall closet for that, right.”

“A whole closet dedicated to _lube_? Why Jimmy,” House teased mockingly, voice high and breathy. “You sure do know the way to a girl’s heart.”

Wilson finally – _finally_ – closed his book and gave him a look. “I have to find a way to keep you coming home, don’t I.” And those words punched into him, because for all those emotions regularly swimming freely in Wilson’s eyes, he was pretty good at the whole _deadpan_ thing. For a moment, House almost thought the younger man was being serious. And hearing the word _home_ fall from Jimmy’s pretty lips made his chest cinch up tight. “I’ll go start the water,” Wilson deferred, pushing himself to his feet.

Watching him disappear from the living room, House realized he had things to do before said bath, and even though watching Jimmy walk away was pretty spectacular, it was a little counterproductive. He made himself walk to his room and strip, moving to toss his clothes in the hamper before he caught himself and dropped them on the floor instead. It wouldn’t do for him to step into Wilson’s chronic desire for neatness. House tugged the robe on and listened to the rumble of water through the pipes, closing his eyes against it and dropping down on the bed. He lazed for a bit, listening to that tub fill through the wall until the water cut off, and House shoved himself upward and headed for Wilson’s room.

And the sight in the bathroom made his breath wad up somewhere near the hollow of his throat. Because the bathroom was dark, and Jimmy was already in the bath. And there were _fucking candles_ lit on the sink, on the toilet throwing flickering quivers of light on the younger man’s bare chest, his upturned face. The room was filled with damp, steamy air and the scent of something sweet and musky that was _definitely_ doing something for him. And House couldn’t strip his fucking robe off fast enough, as he almost stumbled his way to the bath.

“How romantic,” he quipped breathily once he managed to get the air past his too-tight throat as he dropped his robe on the floor far away from the candles because it wouldn’t do for him to catch their place on fire. The water’s surface shimmered with oil, and he bemoaned the lack of being able to see Jimmy in the bath. He _could_ see it when Wilson’s legs spread to allow him space, and House stepped in as carefully as possible because nothing said _romance is dead_ like slipping in the tub.

Wilson’s hands spread along his hips, helping him fold back into the tub. And there was his chest getting tight again, as he settled down into the hot water. House could feel the slow, deep expansion of the oncologist’s chest as he breathed. Tucked into the vee of Wilson’s legs, pressed firmly against his bare chest – he was so overcome. Which was _stupid_ of him, because it was _so idiotic_ for him to get all emotionally over the fact that Wilson had done this for him. Because the younger man had drawn him a bath, and filled the room with a sweet, heady scent, and had set _fucking ambience_.

“Yeah?” Damp fingers ran up through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “I debated on the oil, but I think it’s nice.” And dammit, if the younger man thought it was nice, he could too. House was allowed to enjoy the slick contrast of the oily water against his skin that was so different than normal water. “Water too hot?” As if Wilson didn’t know how he liked his baths.

“It’s good,” House breathed out, letting himself relax back against Wilson and breathe deep. Because the water was hot, bordering just there at numbing his skin. Even the steam wafting off the water was hot, evaporating the breath in his lungs and filling them with the warm, sweetly musky scent. And it was so _good_. He let his head loll back against Wilson’s shoulder. “Where’s the music, Prince Charming. I bet the acoustics in here are awesome.”

The younger man’s lips brushed the shell of his ear. “If you want music, you’ll have to let me out. Because I’m not putting speakers in my bathroom just for you.”

“No music,” House said a little more quickly than he would have liked. But the thought of having to let Wilson out of the tub was inexcusable. He could more than suffer through the quietness pulling headily between them, filled only with the soft rasp of their breath. Wilson dropped a kiss to his shoulder, his fingers scratching along House’s scalp in that way he liked best.

“How was your lockdown,” Wilson finally asked because Jimmy _needed_ to fill the silence. Needed to ask about his day. Which was something a little more like a relationship than just two men sharing a bath. But House was committed to the bath, to the way it was steeping down into his ruined thigh and easing day-long hurts. He could suffer through a few questions if only to enjoy the excessive tub. A naked Wilson was just a perk.

“Might’ve helped some dying guy commit suicide.” And he could just _say_ that because Wilson understood. Because Wilson had been there, done that, wouldn’t judge _him_ for revisiting that action.

“I played Truth or Dare with Thirteen.”

“Yours sounds so much better,” House teased, shifting a little to the side to look at Wilson before settling back into his previous position against Jimmy’s back. But not before he had seen the tiny smile tugging at the corner of the younger man’s lips, creasing his eyes. “I hope you stayed in the Truth category, because I don’t think dear, sweet Jimmy can handle any dares from _that_.” He gestured vaguely, as if encompassing all that Thirteen was in that motion.

Wilson pressed another small kiss to his shoulder, closer to his neck. His teeth scraped at the join of House’s neck, sending goosebumps down his spine as Jimmy’s breathy words skated along the tender rasp. “She dared me to steal a dollar from the cafeteria’s till.” Another kiss pressed to his skin, and House felt a thrill run along his spine as teeth pulled lightly at his skin. Because there was _something_ about strait-laced Wilson doing something frowned upon by society; something that spread heat in his lower belly and made his chest tight.

“You got caught I’m assuming,” he breathed out, because even if Wilson hadn’t managed to pull it off, the thought of it was still doing something for him. House tried to ignore the creeping heat of arousal, because he wasn’t about to ruin a perfectly excellent bath just to get off. But there was another kiss to his shoulder, teeth scraping less gently against the crook of his neck. And okay so, he was maybe amenable to them ruining a perfectly excellent bath just to get off.

“Oh absolutely. Embarrassingly quick.” Wilson’s mouth dipped to the crook of his neck once more, licking a hot stripe along his skin, exhaling in a way that sent goosebumps scattering down his arms. His dick twitched. “I’m apparently pretty bad at doing illegal things.” House shifted impatiently, because hearing about Wilson’s incompetence at being a criminal really should have been a thing. But then again, House was sitting in a tub, his dick getting hard just hearing about it.

“I seem to recall a very old arrest and meeting you in a jail cell?” The words hitched out of him as the younger man’s hand dipped into the water to ghost along his hip. Those fingers curled there, Wilson’s thumb rubbing along the jut of bone. House was _definitely_ hard, and Jimmy was _definitely_ taking his time. It was infuriatingly hot. House hated it.

“Is that why you bailed me out?” That mouth was moving up along his pulse in a slow slide of soft lips and sharp teeth and hot tongue. “Because you’ve got a thing for bad boys?” House’s arousal ratcheted upward as the younger man nipped at his earlobe. And the feel of Jimmy’s breathing against the curls of his ear made his stomach swoop, his hips jerking upward minutely. The water offered absolutely _no_ friction as it parted around his erection, managing to feel like a barely-there tease that made House whimper.

“Obviously. Nothing says _hot_ like a baby-face getting hauled off in handcuffs.” Okay, maybe it _had_ done something for him. But there was something to be said for the passion Wilson had exuded as he hurled the glass into the mirror, his shoulders squared as he turned around to glare at the asshole by the jukebox – which surprisingly _hadn’t_ been House – before the whole bar had erupted into a brawl and the cops had been called. But it also bore noting that House had noticed the younger man earlier. At the conference. And that he had maybe followed the younger man to the bar. Not that House would ever tell Jimmy that. “There’s a reason the _bad boy kink_ is a romantic trope.”

Wilson huffed out an amused breath along his ear, tongue pulling hotly along the shell before he nipped at that soft spot just behind it. House’s foot flexed hard against the porcelain of the tub, pressing him back harder against the younger man as his breath punched out of him, because he wasn’t the only one hard. And then Wilson’s hand was glancing upward over his belly, nails scraping through his chest hair. House whined petulantly, his hips twitching. “Please,” he breathed out.

“I seem to recall the important lesson that water is a terrible lubricant,” Jimmy breathed along his skin. How was House supposed to think with that wicked mouth doing that sort of thing, let alone the eager jut of the younger man’s pretty cock pressing into his lower back. How was he supposed to make coherent thoughts with arousal coiling heavily in his lower belly, and his dick leaking regardless of the water. Wilson worried at his pulse, the sharp edge of teeth tempered with the softest brushes of lips, and House could _feel_ the younger man smirking.

“There’s oil on it.” He gasped in a breath, his hand curling around Wilson’s and pulling it back toward the water. House delighted in the feel of Jimmy’s palm sliding slowly along his chest, the swell of his belly, the sound of their hands slipping into the water. “Totally enough glide.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Wouldn’t want you to chaff.” And _fuck Wilson_ he thought desperately as deft fingers stroked lightly along his length in an apparent tease, punching House’s breath right out of him. The younger man crowded against him, his cock brand-hot where it pressed against House’s back as Wilson leaned over the tub’s side. Okay, maybe not _fuck Wilson_ House amended as the younger man produced a dusty pink bottle that he recognized as bath oil. Wilson’s arms came around his neck so the oncologist could pour a copious amount of that sweet, musky smelling oil on his fingers.

Those lips ghosted along House’s ear, the soft rasp of Wilson’s breathing rattling into him. “I’m thinking that I’m going to jerk you while I rub off on your back,” Jimmy finally said, his voice low and rough and exactly how House liked it. And that sounded like such an excellent suggestion, but he had heard the soft lilt of a question in Wilson’s words. Because while the younger man wanted that, he wouldn’t just take it . . . even if House sometimes wanted him to.

He nodded a bit more enthusiastically than he had intended to, because holy _fuck_ did House want that. “Yes. That,” House breathed out, his dick twitching eagerly. He could feel the viscous slide of precum trembling down his erection, his length bobbing in anticipation. His gaze firmly on the way the candlelight illuminated the glossy sheen on Wilson’s fingers, and he felt his heartbeat accelerate because _holy fuck did he want that_. Of course, that hand disappeared from his sight, but House could hear the gentle slosh of water as the younger man’s hand broke the surface. His guts twisted up in anticipation for a touch that didn’t come as he expected. Because he had expected those slick fingers wrapping surely along his cock, but instead he felt Jimmy’s knuckles brushing his spine and felt the punched-out huff of air as Wilson stroked himself roughly. And how was House not supposed to jerk back into that, his hips jutting back to more firmly feel that action, wishing he could see it because _God_ he loved it when Wilson touched himself.

“Jimmy.” And House’s voice was hovering there on wrecked already. Which was to be expected, because he was in the bath with a stupidly hot younger man who apparently wanted to take House apart with his hand while he rutted against House’s back. His breath punched out of him, his hands clamping down on the sides of the tub as those slick fingers curled around his dick, squeezing. House was wound up, which who would have ever guessed that Wilson being sweet and romantic would be the thing that really got him hot and bothered.

But Wilson didn’t pull his palm upward. Instead they just sat there for a moment, with those fingers curled around the base of his cock, squeezing and twisting softly. House gasped out, acutely aware that he was keyed up enough that if the younger man kept doing that then the whole bathtub experience would be over embarrassingly quick. He leaned forward, pressing his hips back against Jimmy more firmly and shifted if only to feel that slick length slide indecently along his skin. Wilson’s chest folded along his back, his free hand clamping down on the edge of the tub near House’s as the younger man tucked his face into the crook of his neck. And _finally_ Jimmy was stroking him.

There was the hot flare of the oncologist’s breath along his neck, the scrape of those teeth lit him up as Wilson rocked against him, as the younger man’s pretty cock slid hotly and ground against his spine. Deft fingers twisted along the head of his dick, toying at his foreskin in a rough approximation of the same rhythm rutting against his back. And the feeling of Jimmy just pulling his fingers over the head of House’s cock over and over made his length throb, made him fuck up into the tight clench of those fingers before grinding back into the vee of Wilson’s legs. The feel of that palm rocking along his tip choked a moan out of him, and House had to flex both legs to keep the younger man from pushing him forward as Wilson fucked against him more roughly.

And House really couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck about the slosh of water he might have heard and prayed that Jimmy hadn’t because he and Wilson had very different views on water on the floor. But apparently Wilson hadn’t heard, as he nipped at House’s neck and pulled his hand along House’s length in that firm, confident way that had – _just the once_ – made House cum in under two minutes. And _Christ_ the oil was so good for that, slicker than the lube they used, thinner, and apparently fan _fucking_ tastic for fooling around in the bath. It was also a bonus that the liberal use of it had filled the room with that heady, warm scent of sweet musk. House let his head fall back against Wilson’s shoulder rocking up into the oncologist’s hand before grinding back against that hard dick as arousal coiled in his belly.

“Nnh,” Jimmy whined, more of a punched-out breath along his skin than an actual sound. But House was intimately familiar with it, and it still undid him like haphazard stitches. He could feel the flex of Wilson’s body where it bracketed around him. “Fuck,” the younger man panted out, biting along House’s neck in the best possible way. The blunt sting of each bite was washed away as Wilson stroked him surely, pulling him back more firmly against the younger man.

House wanted to agree verbally, but he was having a hard time smooshing sonances into words so he coughed out a sound he hoped Wilson would take as affirmation. Because that hand was moving slickly along his length, twisting at the head, tightening deliciously as it slid downward again. His breathing was a punched-out, wrecked thing as he dropped his hand to curl around Wilson’s wrist just to better feel the younger man touch him. His dipped his head, forcing his eyes to open – even if he didn’t quite remember closing them. And he could see an approximation of his dick slipping through the tight circle of the oncologist’s hand, the water lapping against the tub with that motion. Blurred around the edges as it was, the sight shouldn’t have been that hot – but seeing Jimmy stroke him through the sheen of oil punched into him harder than he expected, crushing a whimper from his chest. House rocked his hips into Jimmy’s grasp, wheezing when those fingers curled even tighter around him as the younger man ground against him, pulling House back into that frantic motion.

The slick, hot slide of Jimmy’s length along his spine was obscene, chased with those little panted out gasps against his skin. And there, in that dark room, House could admit to himself that Wilson was probably his favorite addiction. He leaned back into the younger man, sandwiching that stupidly perfect dick more firmly between Jimmy’s stomach and his back. That punched-out noise flaring against his damp throat, the way Wilson’s hips rolled more firmly against him, the quickening slide of his fingers along House’s length. All of it. Totally worth it.

Because Wilson wasn’t trying to drag it out anymore. But rather, there was that rush for them to finish. House could feel it in every motion, in every push and grind of the younger man’s dick against his back, in every tight downstroke and twisting upstroke against his length. It all coiled arousal tightly in his stomach, winding his breath out of his chest because how was it that good – just frotting against each other like fucking teenagers. It didn’t matter how, because there was want thundering through his veins, seeping out into his deep muscles as Wilson panted against his ear and dropped a hand into the cooling water to grasp bruisingly at House’s thigh, pulling him back more firmly.

His orgasm barbed into him surprisingly, burning its way down his spine and wrenching down into the cradle of his hips as House jerked up into Wilson’s touch. And Wilson, dutifully, tightened his grasp almost impossibly, milking it out of House and hurtling him toward overstimulation. House’s chest heaved pitifully, his hips rolling up into lightening touch as the younger man ground and rocked against him. Normally, Jimmy cumming on him was unfairly hot, punching into him like some visceral, eons-old proprietary act. But in the bath, the water spreading the hot bloom of the younger man’s spend along his skin was stupidly hot. Because there was that bitter, almost chemical-soap scent of their cum mixed with that heady, warm sweet-musk scent of the oil, and the languid steep of bliss flooding into his veins as House slumped back against the younger man.

“Holy fuck,” House panted out, letting his head fall forward as he struggled to suck in enough breath to function. And Jimmy folded closer along his back, laughter breathing out along House’s neck.

“Mm,” the younger man hummed against the side of his throat, pressing soft kisses to House’s skin. “So, this bath has become a contradiction. Can we move this to the bedroom?” Kisses pressed along his throat, teeth nipping sharply at House’s skin. So, House nodded and let the younger man help him out of the cooling bath and into the bedroom, leaving Wilson to handle the bathroom as he flopped wetly down amid the bed covers.

“Couldn’t have at least dried off a little,” the younger man huffed out from the door frame, leaned against the jamb and clutching a towel haphazardly around his hips. House waved a hand vaguely, earning him an almost laugh. He watched as Wilson made his way across the bedroom, bringing that sweet-musk scent with him, followed closed by the acrid scent of snuffed out candles. Not that it mattered as Jimmy dropped the towel and crawled onto the bed. “Move over; I’m not sleeping in the wet spot.”

“Can’t move, too fucked out.” He tipped his head back, humming as if to make a point. Wilson just snorted. House smiled a little as Wilson shoved at him a little too carefully before flopping down in the bedclothes and jerking the duvet out from under him. And sure, it was a little damp where the oncologist tossed it over them, but House couldn’t help but feel like it was a little bit perfect.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. House just knew he woke up to an empty bed, as he sat up and pushed fingers through his hair. His joints felt too heavy, his muscles a little loose as he rolled out of bed and stumbled for the shower. He couldn’t keep the smile from curling at the edges of his mouth as he took in the candles lining the windowsill, and House wagered he could still smell that heady sweetly musky scent as he turned on the faucet. House couldn’t help but feel like it was stupid of him to think about Jimmy as he stepped under the spray. After all, he’d spent the night in his bed, listening to the younger man breathe. He definitely shouldn’t be going through the motions in the shower thinking about the younger man. Especially since House would see the oncologist in roughly an hour; _especially_ since their offices were _literally_ right next to each other. He scrubbed his nails sharply against his scalp to dissuade those thoughts. Because just because they had taken back to falling into bed together didn’t mean House should get his hopes up of keeping Jimmy for himself that time. Wilson was a hurricane of relationships, sucking people in and wrecking them, and it didn’t help that House was already wrecked. Had always been, hadn’t he? All those years ago, he had thrown himself into the path of the destruction. But there was only so much tempting that fate would take.

Turning the faucet to cold, House turned his face up into that chilly cascade of water until his chest cinched tight. He shut the water off and groped for the towel hung up on the wall, slinging it around his hips. Dripping only a little, House made his way to his room and pawed through his closet. He let the towel drop as he pulled on his shirt, making his way half-dressed to the dressers for jeans and boxers. And in the hall bathroom, House finished getting ready. It was easier there, in that impersonal space, to not think of Wilson. Because there was House’s toothbrush and deodorant, which did little to counteract the scent of Jimmy’s bodywash on his skin, but House just chose to overlook that fact.

And in the kitchen, the air still held the bitter scent of coffee, some of it still in the pot just for him. House filled a mug and leaned against the counter, trailing his fingers along a note Wilson had left him. _Dinner with an old friend tonight; don’t wait up_. There was that jealous curl of emotion in his guts, which was stupid of him because Wilson was allowed to have friends other than him. Just because Wilson’s friendship with House was the younger man’s most successful, long-term relationship didn’t mean that the oncologist wasn’t allowed to have friends from _before_ House. He still crushed the note, though. Crinkling up the torn off paper in his fist, mouth twisted up as he tried not to think about Jimmy _before_ House. Because they had each other presently, for however long.

Wilson’s office was still his first stop when he got to Princeton-Plainsboro, ignoring the curious eyes of his fellows as he pushed open the younger man’s office. And Jimmy didn’t even look up from his chart, just kept making notes in the margin. “Good thing I wasn’t with a patient,” the younger man deadpanned before leaning back in his chair expectantly. House wanted so desperately to hate the slow smirk that crept across the younger man’s face, but it was such a good look.

“Who’re you having dinner with?” House threw himself down on the oncologist’s couch, thumping his cane absentmindedly as he looked at Wilson carefully. Because the younger man wasn’t exactly proficient at lying all the time, but House could admit that Jimmy could lie when it suited him. He did it enough to his cue-ball patients.

“Evans, at Mercy.” Not so much of a flicker of a tell. Wilson’s hands knotted together high on his stomach as he leaned back, face earnest and open – looking exactly like a man who couldn’t even manage to steal a dollar. But Jimmy was more of a bastard than people gave him credit for. Because the oncologist could lie when it mattered. “He wants to discuss a clinical trial, wants to maybe bring it here.” And something felt off, as the silence pulled between them. “You can check with Amy, if you’d like,” Wilson said, holding his hands out, palms up. Which was all it took for House to begrudgingly believe him, because the younger man would never involve someone else in his lies.

House leaned back, rubbing at his thigh before he shrugged. “Well, I hope you have a nice time.”

“Who are you, and what’ve you done with Gregory House,” the oncologist quipped, a smile pulling across his mouth more firmly. And _Christ_ House wanted to kiss him. Which _that_ was definitely a dangerous thought at work.

“Just don’t put out on the first date; make him work for it,” he countered, shoving himself upward and limping toward the door. A soft huff of amusement followed him, and petulantly House left the oncologist’s door open. He pushed into his office.

They didn’t have a case. Cuddy hadn’t even pushed one on them. So, House spent his day, regrettably, in the clinic, if only to distract himself from Wilson’s pending dinner date with someone who wasn’t _him_. And the clinic was, as always, a riot of people blowing colds and chest congestion out of proportion, and small children cramming things where they shouldn’t. He also managed to shock Cuddy, a hand flying to her chest in surprise at not having had to threaten him into working clinic hours. So, he felt leaving early was a well-earned reward, and not just so he didn’t have to watch Wilson head out the clinic doors, knowing the younger man would be spending the evening with someone else.

And the apartment was way too quiet without Jimmy. He glanced at his watch, wondering where the two oncologists had met for dinner and if the younger man would bring House his leftovers. He took a pull on his beer and dropped down at the organ, his fingers plunking across the keys mindlessly. A million songs swirled in his temporal lobe, but of course it would offer up _One_ for him to play on a whim. Well, it was better than _Leave A Tender Moment Alone_. House couldn’t bring himself to admit he was holding out for Wilson to come home, to push in through the door and sweep them off to bed. He glanced at his watch once more before finishing his beer and deciding he would order Vietnamese for dinner. Bun ga nuong cha gio usually made him feel better, and those spring rolls.

It was getting late, and still no Jimmy. And House tried not to think about it too much. He was curious about the trial, because Wilson usually needed irrefutable proof that the poison cocktails used were helping more than they were hurting. Not to mention there were chemotherapy drugs the younger man didn’t like to use anyway, because no one liked pumping patients with drugs that ate holes in people’s hearts. It shouldn’t take that long for the younger man to decide if he wanted Evans’s trial at Princeton-Plainsboro. Definitely shouldn’t have taken as long as it clearly was. But three beers had turned into half of that nice bottle of hidden away scotch, and his mind was heavy with it. His fingers were clumsy with it, as House pulled off his clothes and flopped into bed naked, hoping Wilson would wake him when he came home.

In the morning, he woke way earlier than he should have. But scotch had a funny way of keeping his mind from falling too deeply into sleep. His sheets lacked the sleep-faded, body-warmed scent of the oncologist. Huffing, House pressed his face further into the pillows and groaned before getting up. It took him a moment to remember why he was naked, and even longer to get over the fact that he hadn’t gotten lucky last night. Not that that mattered, because his leg was hurting – pain snarling down along the femur. He groaned again because his pills were in the kitchen.

Admittedly, his fingers were apparently still a little scotch-stupid, because it took him longer than it should have to get that bottle open. House rattled a few out into his palm and head for the fridge for some juice. Dry swallowing the pills made him miss Vicodin, and that was a road he would rather not go back down. Which was about the time he heard heels clicking on their hardwood floor and turned to look at some pretty blonde who was _definitely_ not Evans. Because last time he’d checked, Evans was a balding, white male, roughly in his late fifties with coffee-stained teeth.

“You’re new,” he blurted out.

“You’re naked.” Her head jerked in surprise, looking him over before her gaze immediately focused on the neutral territory of his face.

“And for the record, it’s a little bit cold.” Because the lady definitely wasn’t Evans. House could feel his mouth twist up, could feel cold dread steeping in his chest. Because he had known it was only a matter of time before Jimmy had looked elsewhere, but he hadn’t expected Wilson to bring her to their _home_.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that anyone was home.” And he really hated the sound of her heels on their floor. “James had an early call, and I was just leaving.” But it felt good seeing her discomfort.

House brandished a cereal box at her. “Without breakfast?”

“I’m fine, thanks. I’m Sam, by the way,” she finally told him, hand on her hip as if she had any right questioning what House was doing there, naked, in a home that Wilson had bought for the two of them. And maybe she should have been asking herself why _James_ had another man in his apartment, regardless of the clothing situation, and hadn’t mentioned it to her.

Not that it mattered, because he could _play nice_ with Jimmy’s pretty blonde friend. That was what the infuriatingly polite James Wilson would have wanted anyway. But House was definitely going to have to give the younger man a stern talking to about lying and leaving his toys out. And he made polite small talk and put on the apron to make her less uncomfortable and silently wished she would get the fuck out of _their_ apartment. The moment the door closed behind her, House stomped back to his room as aggressively as his wrecked thigh would allow and dressed as quickly as he was able because he and Jimmy _really_ needed to have a talk.

Roughly an hour later, after he unloaded the case on his fellows, House burst through Wilson’s door and swung the sword around at the younger man, who looked suitably surprised, palms facing him in submission. “Who’s the chick,” he asked, tone lilting upward to mask the hurt. “And why are you hiding her.” Jimmy’s shoulders rolled and slumped in defeat, his whole body shifting marginally.

“You were home last night,” the oncologist asked, as if confused. Because why wouldn’t House have been home, waiting for Jimmy to come home from his dinner date about a clinical trial that was apparently a big fat coverup for a booty call.

“And this morning,” he stated, feeling that dread seep in his chest as he shut the door. Because House really didn’t need the rest of the hospital knowing their dirty laundry. “Bumped into your babe, naked,” and his mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. It felt more like a grimace, cut and pulled into the corners of his lips. House could see the surprise flicker in those cold espresso eyes.

“I told you to stay out of my bathroom.” Which apparently only counted when Jimmy _wasn’t_ drawing romantic baths for House.

“I was in the kitchen,” he grumped.

“She was naked in the kitchen?”

“I was naked.” And there was that flicker of surprise again, hedged up by something more carnally curious.

“Why the hell were you naked in the kitchen?” Wilson’s voice was a little high, kind of breathy in that interested way, and House really couldn’t be bothered to get distracted by his dick right then. No matter how much he wanted to, when he could see the beginning of that hungry thing in Jimmy’s eyes. Because Wilson was giving him a look that said he might be okay with them revisiting the whole fucking in the office thing.

“Mm that’s not important right now,” House grumped, looking away to collect his resolve before pinning the younger man with a rather pointed look. “What is important is why you didn’t want me to meet her in the first place.” Jimmy’s shoulders rolled down further in defeat. “Is she married.”

“No.”

“Patient.”

“I don’t have time for this.” And Wilson turned away, like that _hadn’t_ been a thing. Like Wilson _hadn’t_ fucked Grace, hadn’t _lived_ with her for Chrissake. House was running out of options, of reasons why Jimmy would hide her away.

“She used to be a man.”

“House,” Wilson exclaimed, gathering up his coat in a huff of irritation.

“She wants to be a man. Sam. Is a man’s name. Short for . . .” And Wilson was gathering up his things, clearly done with House’s bullshit. And then it hit him, the revelation slamming into him like someone had cleaved that broadsword into his fucking chest. And he definitely couldn’t let Wilson out the door, leaning back against it and lifting the sword once more. He felt his lips curl. “Samantha.” And Jimmy dropped his shoulders in resignation. “The soulless harpy you were married to before we met.”

House’s stomach clenched, his guts roiling together in agitation – because he remembered the Jimmy he had found after Hurricane Sam had ripped through him, decimating him. He remembered how long it had taken for the younger man to recover, how many shots it had taken for the oncologist to smile again. House remembered it all so fucking clearly. And for all _his_ bad ideas, how was it that _House_ was the only one who saw the decision for the train wreck waiting to happen that it was.

And he let the younger man try to explain it away. Pursed his lips, and nodded along, and snipped at Wilson because it hurt. It hurt so much that the younger man was desperate enough to fuck something with two functioning legs that he would crawl back to _her_. The affection had bloomed into something sharp and spiny in his chest, something like possessiveness and protectiveness. And all of House’s hindbrain instincts snarled at him to keep what was his safe.

But _Christ_ did it hurt.

He snatched the door open, trying not to sink into that hurt. “Fine. I get it.” Because he did. But at least House could admit he was made for ruining things, could admit it to both himself and others that he fucked up pretty much any good thing he had. Sam probably couldn’t even admit it to herself. “It’s your life. You can go screw it up. I can wait.”

“For what.”

House gave Jimmy the shittiest look he could manage while the word _you_ hummed around the inside of his skull like a nest of hornets. “To tell you I told you so.”

After that, the knight in the ER was decidedly less interesting. House didn’t really care that the patient was living in filth and eating cow eyes covered in vomit. He didn’t really care that the kid had a twisted sense of honor or was madly in love with _the queen_ in their little fantasy world. He didn’t really care about the blisters, or the seizure, or the mounting pain. But he made himself get through it.

Just like he made himself get through dinner with Wilson and Sam and _Sarah_. Even if that bratty little plan somehow backfired because Wilson and Sam didn’t care that Sarah was a transgender prostitute. But that was _fine_ because the case was suddenly interesting again, and the answer was _right there_. And it was just enough to keep his mind off thoughts of Wilson and Sam having dinner, laughing and talking and having a _good time_. But, as much as it pained him, House knew that _Jimmy_ _was worth it._

And he would do anything to keep Wilson in his life, even if that meant sharing Jimmy with Sam.

So, House made the decision to make them dinner. A peace offering of sorts because he couldn’t lose Wilson. Not like that; not again. He couldn’t just roll over and give the younger man up to some sharp blond. He would play nice, laugh and smile, and ask all the right questions. But Sam being candid about how she decided to look Jimmy up, give him a second chance jabbed at that possessive thing in House’s chest because Wilson didn’t deserve to be a second choice for anything. Because Jimmy was attractive and considerate, romantic to a fault, smart, dedicated to his work. Because Jimmy was a good man.

Sam didn’t _deserve_ Wilson.

House really hadn’t meant to do it, but confronting Sam seemed like the best overall choice. Actually, the best overall choice was for him to convince the younger man that she wasn’t worth Wilson’s time period and to go ahead and stop seeing her. But Jimmy had always had a skewed idea of relationships anyway, always giving too much of himself until the younger man withered away. Except with House. Because with House, Wilson wasn’t afraid of being too sharp, too dull, too much. With House, Wilson just _was_. And those words, well . . . they kind of just spilled out.

“You’re a cold-hearted bitch, who ripped his heart out.” House shifted forward, breathing in against that sharp clench in his chest. “I watched him struggle for years to overcome the damage you did. And there’s no way I’m just going to let you reel him back in just to do it all over again.”

She might have tried to wave away his misgivings, brush them off – but they both knew better. Because at least they were on the same page, butting heads over who had claim over the oncologist. But House knew without a doubt he _would_ outlast her. He had outlasted countless women in the last twelve years, what was one more. House could be patient he told himself as he folded himself down into a chair. Because Jimmy was worth it.

That sharp, spiny thing in his chest climbed the slats of his ribs, crawled into his lungs as House watched them be grossly coupley on the couch. As Sam tucked herself into the crook of Jimmy’s arm and gave House a smug look, pulling the younger man’s tighter around her chest. As Wilson absentmindedly pulled his fingers through her hair, his attention firmly on whatever cooking show was on TV. As they traded chaste kisses during the commercials, inhibitions softened with good wine. And when the night had pulled long around them, to say House was surprised as Jimmy showed Sam to the door was an understatement. But it felt so good watching the younger man close the door quietly on her. House offered her a smug wave over Jimmy’s shoulder before limping into the kitchen.

Wilson boxed him against the kitchen counter, leaning in to press kisses to House’s neck as he cleaned up listlessly. “You sure you’re okay with this,” the younger man breathed out against his skin. Jimmy’s head was heavy where it rested against his shoulder, as if the night had wound him up too tightly and he couldn’t figure out how to decompress. And House hated how right it felt, standing there with the younger man folded along his back and just existing.

“Are you,” he countered. Because no, House didn’t like to share. But there had been a time when he vied with Julie for possession of the oncologist. Same as Bonnie, even if he hadn’t managed to find himself in the younger man’s bed then. House had proven that Wilson’s exes were no match for him, so as far as he was concerned going against Sam was just the boss battle. And if finding himself in Jimmy’s bed, when Sam couldn’t, helped House to keep his health points up, then he could do it.

A soft huff of amusement skirted along the tender skin at the hinge of his jaw. “I kind of like you acting like an emotionally responsible adult.”

“Hey,” House grumped, letting his head tip against Wilson’s. He wanted so desperately to hate how instinctive it was to melt down into the younger man. “Let’s not get carried away here. Baby steps.”

Another kiss pressed against his pulse. “Pretty sure the dishes can wait.”

“You’re just trying to get me into bed,” House scoffed.

“I thought it was common courtesy. Since you cooked, I clean, right?” Jimmy breathed against his throat. “But yes, I would rather get you into bed than do the dishes.”

“I am _all_ for that. Let’s go to bed.” House shook himself out of Wilson’s grasp before heading for his bedroom – because no way in fuck would he be sleeping in the younger man’s bed with sheets still smelling of some foreign perfume. A soft chuckle followed him down the hall. And House figured he had about ten minutes to throw himself into bed, because Wilson didn’t rush his nighttime routine for anyone. It was still probably the fastest he had ever brushed his teeth and changed into sleep attire. House swallowed his nightly allotment of ibuprofen and flopped down in bed, shuffling upward until his head hit the pillows.

His heart did something complicated behind the bones of his chest when House caught sight of the younger man in his doorway. All backlit and soft as Jimmy slumped in the doorframe, pushing a hand through his hair. And he had expected Wilson dressed for bed and not still in his _date_ clothes, which that made his mouth twist up. But House was _totally_ willing to overlook it because surprisingly, or unsurprisingly rather, it meant he was treated to that slow slip of cloth from skin. Because there was Jimmy pulling his belt out of its loops fluidly and dropping it on top of House’s dresser before undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. And there was that shirt being lobbed into _his_ hamper, amid _his_ dirty clothes as Wilson made space for himself in House’s bedroom.

The cloying domesticity of it pooled in all his empty places, coiled tightly in his stomach as the younger man undid his pants, pushing them down and stepping out of them. There had been absolutely nothing sexual about the act, but the intimacy of it was maybe poisoning him. Because there in his dark bedroom, with Wilson stepping closer to his bed, House could almost convince himself he could have that. Could have Jimmy.

“I do appreciate you trying to get along with Sam,” Wilson murmured as he climbed into bed, dropping his undershirt to the floor before crawling across the wadded-up covers. Her name punched into him.

“And I appreciate this,” House quipped and gestured at Wilson’s mostly naked frame, earning him a snort of laughter as the younger man folded himself down into the covers. House had already capitalized on the left side of the bed because the layout was different in the condo than his old place, and he wasn’t a big fan of getting a huge face full of morning sun from that eastern facing window. Which worked out, because Jimmy was an early riser anyway, and sunshine was so much quieter than that fucking alarm.

House flopped onto his back and squinted his eyes shut, listening as Wilson wallowed down in the covers; the younger man wiggling a nest into the duvet. In the silence of the bedroom, House listened to Jimmy shift in the covers and sigh. And House was overly invested in the way Wilson was being a snuggle-bug. He listened as Jimmy huffed out another content sigh, his breath slowing into easy inhales and heavy exhales. He watched the moonlight creep along the floor as the younger man burrowed down further into the nest of covers around Wilson. The soft lull of Jimmy’s breathing was something dangerously like home.

And time was a languid thing, laid there in bed, thinking aimlessly as House rolled over on his side and regarded the pale jut of Wilson’s shoulder where it was visible over the comforter. The blanket had pulled down the younger man’s chest in some backwoods way of regulating his body heat, and House didn’t understand why Jimmy couldn’t just stick a leg out from under the heavy blanket like a normal person. But the oncologist did look lovely like that, his frame softened with moonlight and looking like some kind of dream come to life. And it only made sense for House to fold himself along Wilson’s back. Made sense for him to tuck his head into the crook of the younger man’s neck, breathing deeply along his skin. The cloying, sleep-faded scent of Wilson curled down into his lungs, unfurling there like some flower toward the sun. And House grimaced at himself, hating those sappy thoughts and the way his chest cinched with them. He slid his arm over Wilson’s waist, his hand pressing flat to the cool skin of Jimmy’s chest, feeling the steady thump of the oncologist’s heart beneath his palm.

“Nee’ta get those pills,” Wilson slurred sleepily, his head tipping back toward House’s. And House ran his lips along the shell of the younger man’s ear in the way that made Jimmy shudder and rock back against him. House could see those lashes spread along the cuts of Jimmy’s cheeks in a dark crescent, his eyes still closed even as he asked House if he was hurting. Which only served to make his chest cinch even tighter, and House blinked against the sudden ache of affection he felt. Because how could House not press soft kisses along Jimmy’s neck, scraping his teeth just barely as he crowded closer. The soft rumble of the younger man’s appreciation rattled through him where their bodies pressed together. He rubbed his palm along Wilson’s side, scraping his nails just barely over a cold-peaked nipple, pinching it before House spread his hand on Jimmy’s sternum.

Arousal burned through him, slow and languid; a creeping heat as he pressed closer to Wilson. House’s hips rocked forward, pressing close to the swell of Wilson’s ass. Already it was humming along his veins as House folded himself as tightly to Jimmy’s back as he could. House tipped his head into Wilson’s crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of the younger man as his hand smoothed along Jimmy’s hip. “Not the leg,” he breathed out, tugging Wilson back against him, his hips rolling forward in promise. House nuzzled against the younger man’s neck, nosing along the slow thrum of his pulse as he laid sucking, open-mouth kisses along that thin skin. He could practically taste the soft hum of appreciation caught in Jimmy’s throat as House rasped his stubble against sleep-softened skin. The younger man pressed back against him with a whine, his hips bumping back to grind that perfect ass into House’s groin – right up against the eagerly awakening jut of his cock. He huffed out what could have been a moan as his hand pulled downward, his palm cataloging the slow slope of Jimmy’s belly as House made for the oncologist’s waistband.

“Couldn’t sleep,” House mumbled against the soft spot behind Wilson’s ear, nosing at that heavy, dark hair. He pulled his fingers along the supple skin above the elastic of the younger doctor’s boxers, dragging his thumbnail teasingly along the flesh.

“And what,” Wilson huffed out. “I’m supposed to tire you out?” But his tone decidedly lacked any bite, especially as he continued to push back into House’s hips. And that ass was doing some indecent twist, and whatever thoughts he _might_ have had about going back to sleep abruptly went out the proverbial window. House cupped the younger man’s erection through the thin fabric of his boxers, encouraging Jimmy to press back against him harder, and squeezed. Wilson bucked into his touch with a huffed-out sound of approval.

“Doesn’t seem like you’ll be going back to bed anytime soon.”

“Gee, wonder who’s fault that is,” Jimmy deadpanned. But that tone was breathy, and his head was tipping back – his throat just a long line as he breathed a moan out through barely parted lips. And Wilson’s hips had arched back into House’s groin, giving little twists as his still-clothed dick managed to press under the swell of Jimmy’s ass perfectly. And that mimicry of the lewd act was so much hotter than it had _any_ right being, punching out House’s breath roughly.

“Dealer’s choice, Jimmy,” he ground out, his hand slipping down to grab roughly at Wilson’s lovely thigh. House pulled the younger man back against him tighter, his hips grinding incessantly against that peachy-perfect ass. “Whatever you want,” he breathed out against Wilson’s neck, his mouth broke open with want as he panted into the humming pound of the younger man’s pulse. His fingers curled tightly around Wilson’s boxers, tugging at the elastic slightly in promise. The fabric pulled down just barely, and House slipped his thumbpad through the well-groomed hair there.

Wilson whimpered as his hand slipped back, pushing at the waistband of House’s sleep pants impatiently. “Can’t wait; like this,” Jimmy muttered. And _that_ punched hot and heavy into House. Arousal bloomed in his guts, spreading outward at the thought of Wilson being too impatient – _too worked up_ – to wait long enough for House to finger him open. And well . . . Jimmy did have such lovely thighs, but he needed the younger man to verbalize what he was giving House permission for. Needed it like he needed another fucking hole in his head but was gagging for it all the same.

“Like this,” House teased, his breath puffing damply along the curls of Wilson’s ear. And he could hear Jimmy huff out an almost irritated sound, eyeroll implied, before the younger man twisted his head around to awkwardly kiss at House’s lips. It was sloppy and sleepy and still one of the best kisses he’d ever been privy to – something filthy and wanting and just a bit desperate. And he was helpless but to moan into that smash of lips, pressing as much as his body forward against the younger man as possible, nearly overcome with the simple instinct to push the oncologist down and _take_ what was being offered.

“Greg,” the younger man purred, his tone something dark and wrecked, coiling into House’s headspace like ruination as Jimmy nipped and licked at his lips. “Fuck my thighs. Please.” And the whimpered-out entreaty the oncologist teased him with was clearly an exaggeration, but _Christ_ did it set House on fire inside. He moaned and jerked forward. Their teeth clinked together as House slammed his mouth to Wilson’s eagerly, his tongue fucking into Jimmy’s mouth as his hips jerked forward to grind into the seam of the younger man’s ass.

“Lube,” he panted out, kissing and licking and nipping along Wilson’s throat while he pawed ineffectually at the younger man’s boxers. And really, House should have been irritated when Jimmy breathed out a laugh, but then there was the long line of the younger man’s bare back as he stretched across the bed toward the bedside table. Which served to remind House what he was supposed to be doing – namely struggling out of his pajamas and boxers as unawkwardly as possible before Jimmy was back with the lube, shuffling upward into a better position. His breath caught heavily in the cage of his chest, his dick twitching eagerly as Wilson’s body pressed a hot line against him. His arm wrapped low on Jimmy’s stomach, tugging the younger man back until no air was left between them. House smoothed his hand upward, palm slipping over the oncologist’s stomach, his chest, and pushed a little. Jimmy went willingly, shuffling upward in the covers just slightly, his body curving to fit against House’s. Wilson’s heart pounded beneath his palm, his breath hitching as House nipped along the younger man’s throat as his hips rolled forward in promise.

As it was, House had only managed to get his pants down around his knees before Jimmy’s back was pressing hotly against his chest. The younger man’s shoulders slumped almost sleepily as he relaxed into House’s body. House wished he had thought to take his shirt off, to feel Jimmy’s back seared against his chest with sweat. And the whole thing felt a whole lot more romantic than it should have, as Wilson folded back into House’s frame and ground his hips backward lazily as he pushed at his boxers. House dipped his mouth to the crook of Jimmy’s neck, his arm winding around the oncologist’s waist and pulling him back more firmly against House. He rolled his body forward, grinding his dick against Wilson’s peachy ass, and the feel of skin on skin drove him to madness as surely as a silver spoon.

House groaned into Jimmy’s neck, grinding forward as his arm tightened and pulled Wilson back against him harder as his cock caught at that starting point. His hips jerked forward, his breath catching under his ribs at the sensation. Because there was his dick slip-sliding under Jimmy’s ass; his length pushing through the hot, tight clench of Jimmy’s leg muscles. And House groaned, biting at the crook of Wilson’s neck because _fuck was it good._ House’s hips stuttered forward, his skin slick with precum and sweat and it wasn’t _nearly_ enough as his cock slid in between the crease of Jimmy’s thighs. “Lube,” he panted again, smoothing his palm along Wilson’s thigh.

“You’re so impatient,” Wilson laughed breathlessly, his thumb snicking the bottle open. And House ground himself closer, wedged his dick in between Jimmy’s thighs and forced himself to still. He nipped at Wilson’s neck, breathing harder than he should have been given how little they’d done. Then there was that cool slickness as Wilson wiped lube along his skin, his thumb pulling teasingly over the head of House’s cock. A blunt nail scraped gingerly along his dribbling slit, making his dick jump, pulling House’s hips forward with a grunt.

“Leg man, Jimmy,” House panted out against the younger man’s neck, feeling his dick twitch where it was sandwiched between heavy muscles. “Runner, remember?” Which was kind of true, but also not. Because he hadn’t paid much attention to legs when he had two functional ones, but House did have to admit that Wilson did have very nice legs. Stacy had _also_ had nice legs, and Cuddy’s heels did some pretty spectacular things for her calves. Huh, maybe he _was_ a leg man. And leave it to Jimmy to wake that up about him, to make it apparent.

He smoothed his palm along the younger man’s top thigh, feeling his quads tense and flex. The hard pad of muscle shifted under soft skin in what could have been a blatant tease. And House nipped sharply at the spine of Wilson’s scapula, mouth burst open with want as his hips rolled forward, pushing his length into that tight, wet clench. House’s fingers dug down into that supple flesh, feeling Wilson’s thigh give under his grasp as he tugged the younger man back at a better angle to fuck between his legs.

“Christ,” he panted, hips jerking forward lazily as Wilson hummed in agreement. House knew he was clutching at the younger man’s thigh in desperation as he fucked forward, but Christ was it good. His hand slipped up to clutch at Jimmy’s hip, pulling the younger man backward eagerly as House’s hips jerked into the hot clench of Wilson’s thighs. House bit at the ridge of the younger man’s shoulder, sucking at the skin as his hips stuttered, his hard length slipping into that seam. And the lube-slick slide of it snatched at his breath. Groaning, he bit more firmly along Wilson’s shoulder, panting against his skin as House’s hips juddered. It shouldn’t have been that good, but there were his fingers curling heavily around Jimmy’s hip as he chased that pleasure. Then there was the softened-callous curl of Wilson’s fingers between his, tugging his hand forward as the younger man offered up a sound that was needy and obscene enough that House would have done anything to hear it again. Which, as it turned out, it didn’t take a lot. Just House’s fingers curling around the base of that pretty dick and squeezing.

And that gasped out whine pulled House’s stomach in tight against Wilson’s perfect ass, wedging his erection in between those lovely thighs. The precum-slick slide of Jimmy’s cock twitching in the tight circle of his fingers was pretty perfect. He pulled his hand upward, twisting at the head and pulling his thumb along the dribbling slit. The younger man’s head tipped back against House’s as a whimper pulled out of Wilson’s chest, his hips bucking up into House’s touch. And his hips rolled forward, fucking messily into the crease of Jimmy’s legs. House panted wetly against Wilson’s neck, nipping at the pound of the oncologist’s pulse as he stroked Wilson firmly. Wilson’s muscles flexed, his thighs clamping down along House’s dick, and House was helpless but to fuck forward into that obscenely tight clench. He groaned against the younger man’s skin, his hips jerking once more before stilling.

House focused on the slide of Wilson’s length through his fingers, jerking and twitching against House’s palm. Jimmy whined, his fingers tightening between House’s and forcing the circle of his fingers to cinch around that hard, velvety length. And the feeling of it coiled tight heat down into his guts, filling House with want. Because _Christ_ did he want.

“Christ Jimmy,” House panted out, his hips rolling forward more intently, his dick slip-sliding between Wilson’s thighs indecently. The sensation pulled at something in his core, looping it tightly around his guts and yanking so hotly it felt icy. He jerked forward, stripping his hand down along Wilson’s slick length. Jimmy pressed his hips back, twisting as he went, encouraging House’s hand on faster, rougher. And House couldn’t breathe, his hips jerking forward to fuck into the tight press of Jimmy’s thighs. “Oh God,” he huffed, fucking further into Jimmy’s legs roughly with a gasp. It shouldn’t have been that hot, frotting together like a couple of fucking _teenagers_ but God help him it was.

“Please,” Wilson panted, his thighs pressing tightly around House’s dick as the younger man pushed back into the cradle of his groin. “Greg, please,” the younger man gasped out, his hips rolling backward to meet the forward fuck of House’s hips. And House sped up the jerk of his palm along Wilson’s dick, his fingers tightening roughly and stroking firmly. The oncologist caught on, and the feeling of Wilson’s fingers tightening between his, pulling House’s hand forward balanced House right there on the edge of bliss. He could feel his orgasm tightening around the base of his spine, coiling in his hips as House jerked forward, pulling his grasp along Jimmy’s pretty dick in tandem. The feeling of Wilson’s hips juddering was obscene, and House tightened his grip along that lovely length, hand jerking roughly.

Once again, that needy sound broke out of Jimmy’s chest, burrowing down into his skull and jerking House’s hips forward. He bit roughly at the younger man’s neck, jerking up into the hot, clenching crease of Wilson’s legs as House pulled his palm upward, twisting as he went. Wilson fucked upward into his grasp before his hips canted back into the forward thrust of House’s hips. And Christ, it was good – his dick sliding into that obscenely slick, indecently hot clench of the younger man’s thighs. He tightened his grasp, giving a more vicious twist along the tip of Jimmy’s leaking dick. And Jimmy’s hand had drifted up to grasp tightly at his wrist, each press of blunt nails into his skin urging him on faster. The want produced by their bodies moving together corkscrewed down into his guts pulled sharp, tightening roughly and wrenching. And there was his orgasm drawing up tighter in his lower belly, coiling sharply and pulling his hips forward quicker. House nipped at the pound of Wilson’s pulse as he jerked forward, huffing against the soft spot behind the younger man’s ear.

House’s orgasm cinched up tight and hot under his skin, forcing him to press forward, grinding as he pulled Jimmy back against him as he pulled roughly at the younger man’s lovely dick. It took all his higher brain functions to keep from rolling forward into that tight clench of those delightful thighs as House folded himself tightly against Wilson’s back. He bit at his bottom lip, hoping that sharp burst of pain would sweep the desperate need to cum away. House plastered his mouth, open and panting, to Jimmy’s pulse as he pulled at that lovely dick, his eyes squinting shut at the indecent slide of that velvet-steel length against his palm. He focused on the eager twitch of Wilson’s cock in his hand, the dribble of precum that slicked the downward slide. And _Christ_ the younger man had been made for fucking.

“Greg,” Jimmy gasped out, reaching back to dig his nails down hard into the thin skin of House’s hip. The curl of pain pulled House’s hips forward as Wilson’s thighs clenched back, his back bowing with a gasp as House twisted roughly at the tip of Jimmy’s pretty dick. And the younger man’s whole body tensed, his hips jerking back and up as he came. The viscous feeling of his cum smoothing the glide of House’s palm against his cock, the feeling of that hard length flexing punched into him. House panted along Wilson’s throat, milking the orgasm out of the younger man because the feeling of Jimmy’s cum dripping from his fingers was _so fucking hot_. Wilson whimpered, his legs clamping along House’s dick as his hips drifted forward lazily into House’s hand. And the need to rut barbed down into House’s hindbrain, demanding that his fingers dig down hard into the solidity of Wilson’s thigh as House’s hips fucked forward.

And it was like someone had hit _play_ on his own orgasm, the feel of it coiling around his spine and punching out into his extremities. House would have sworn he felt it in his fucking _hair_ if asked, as his hips continued their frantic roll forward. His nails dug hard into the soft skin of Jimmy’s thigh, pulling the younger man back into him as he came earth-shatteringly hard. And the glide of his cum between the younger man’s thighs was _so_ much better than the glide of the lube, a thicker consistency and hotter than body warmed. Not to mention there was that whole sense of proprietary behind it – like House was laying claim to the younger man in the most primal sense. He continued to fuck forward lazily, delighting in the feel of each thrust spreading his cum along the soft skin of Jimmy’s inner thighs. He wanted the scent of him stamped down into the younger man’s pores, proving his claim over Sam once and for all. But overstimulation was a bitch of a thing, forcing his hips to slow to a languid grind as he panted and nipped against the younger man’s skin.

The sound of their heavy, damp breathing echoed into the room around them. And all House could smell was that musky, bright scent of cum. He slumped against Jimmy’s back, his chest sticking to the sweat there with every breath. The younger man squirmed uncomfortably, as if suddenly remembering the mess. It probably didn’t help that House had kept on, fucking into that filth and spreading it. But the feel of it had been so fucking _hot._ How could he _not_ make a proper mess of dear, sweet Jimmy. And Wilson spread his legs, giving House a glimpse of the excessive smear of his spend along the inside of the younger man’s thighs as Wilson sighed heavily. His tone was that lovely, fucked-out tone – rough around the edges and pleasantly worn out. The whole room screamed of sex.

“This was a bad idea,” the oncologist huffed out, tugging up the top sheet up over the edge of the bed to wipe at the mess between his legs. House could see it as Wilson mostly mopped at the milky fluid, but he could also see it where it had rubbed into the younger man’s skin there at the edges. Which was hotter than it had any right being, knowing that if he laid open-mouth, sucking kisses along the oncologist’s thighs he would taste himself there. And it stirred that possessive thing in his chest.

“I thought it was pretty hot,” and he pulled his fingertips through the cooling smear of cum along Jimmy’s thigh, lifting his hand to lick at his hand absentmindedly. It had begun to congeal, the bitterness taking on a sharper, more profound edge. And Wilson froze in front of him, letting the sheet fall over the edge of the bed as he huffed out an incredulous breath as he turned to give House a pointed look.

“Greg,” Wilson breathed out. “I can’t _believe_ you wiped that on me.” And he watched delightedly as the younger man wiped at the cum cooling on his thigh with his palm, disgust just as apparent in the line of his shoulders as it was in the cadence of his tone.

House huffed out a breath, leaning forward to breathe in the scent of Jimmy and sex. “Not my fault you’re stupid hot.”

“You could have literally wiped it _anywhere.”_

“It’ll dry.”

“I hate you,” the younger man huffed out, but House could hear the amusement in his tone.

He nosed at that soft spot behind Jimmy’s ear, leaving soft kisses just there at Wilson’s hairline. “Night Jimmy,” House muttered, burying his nose in that heavy, sweat-damp hair.

“Goodnight Greg.”

And apparently, snuggled up against Jimmy’s back, House was in the right position to wake up with a face full of bright morning sunshine. Groaning, he tucked his face into the crook of Wilson’s neck. Which the fact that the oncologist was still in bed felt like a minor miracle that needed to be celebrated. Especially when the younger man still smelled like sex, and his body was canted back into the fold of House’s frame. And House scrubbed his face closer, stubble rasping roughly at the tender line of Wilson’s throat.

“House quit,” Wilson groaned, his arm folding back to push ineffectually at House’s hip. He tried to squirm free, face burrowing in the pillows with a heavy sigh. The younger man’s shoulders slumped, and House wanted nothing more than just let Jimmy drift back off to sleep. A morning spent in bed sounded pretty spectacular.

“It’s after nine Sleeping Beauty,” House quipped roughly instead, nipping at Wilson’s neck.

“Fuck,” Jimmy yelped before rolling off the bed in an athletic move that was pretty impressive for a man of his age, not that forty-four was old but it certainly seemed too old to be performing acrobatic maneuvers before noon. Or at least to House, and he laughed as Wilson cursed, his knees knocking loudly into the floor. Right up until Wilson abruptly yanked the covers away, wrapping them haphazardly around his form as he stumbled toward the door. And that little act of self-consciousness barbed down in his chest, pulling a smile to the corners of House’s mouth.

House flopped back on the bed with a huff of a softer laugh. He felt good. Slowly, he shuffled to the edge and swung his legs out, getting to his feet. And what was the point of him worrying about being naked in his _own place_. Wasn’t like it wasn’t anything Jimmy hadn’t seen before. He limped out into the kitchen and did a few non-approved actions, namely drinking milk straight from the carton and leaving said carton in the door. Because it wouldn’t _hurt_ for him to go ahead and start picking at Wilson, setting Sam up for all those annoyances. And Jimmy would never suspect him, because House _knew_ better than to fuck with the dishwasher or the toilet paper or, God forbid, the _milk._ Smiling to himself, he downed a couple ibuprofen and popped two bagels in the toaster.

“Okay, we’re really going to have to talk about you being naked in the kitchen,” Wilson quipped as he stepped out of the hallway, doing up the buttons of his dress shirt. And House hated that shaft of affection that curled way down to his diaphragm, because Jimmy looked so soft and perfectly unmade with his belt undone and tie slung over his shoulder, fingers making quick work of the buttons and rolling his cuffs deftly. “I’m pretty sure it’s unhygienic.”

“So are you going to make a list of pre-approved safe spots for me to be naked,” House mocked, but admittedly his retort fell a little flat. Which, wasn’t really his fault because there was Jimmy popping the collar of his shirt, pulling the tie into place as a tiny smile quirked there at the corner of his mouth. Those deft hands looped fabric, crossing silk in a display of over and under and down and over. And House did hate how his mouth went dry watching as Jimmy folded the thick fabric into place, cinching the knot up into the hollow of his throat and smoothing his collar down over it.

And _of course,_ it was that fucking green tie. The contrast of the fabric against Wilson’s skin, his shirt ratcheted House’s internal temperature up at least ten degrees he would wager. Because after that whole thing with the bed, and the subsequent time of Jimmy wearing it where House had locked them in the supply closet for a heated _discussion,_ Wilson had pretty much retired the tie. So, seeing it collided with his higher brain functions and set arousal simmering lowly in his belly. He stepped forward, House’s fingers tugging at the double Windsor as if straightening folds, but Jimmy was pretty perfect at tying that knot. And Wilson knew it, if the curious smile tugging at his mouth was anything to go on. House, unwilling to give up the touch on the younger man just yet, smoothed the heavy silk along Jimmy’s chest.

“I’ll distract Cuddy if she comes looking for you, but please try to be in office in an hour,” Wilson breathed out softly, stepping past House and retrieving one of the bagels that had just popped. “And try not to get yourself killed on that deathtrap.”

“Yes mom,” he mocked again, watching as Jimmy collected his briefcase and stepped into his shoes, crouching to tie the laces.

“Thought I was dad,” the younger man returned over his shoulder, straightening to smooth invisible wrinkles from his clothes. He wedged the bagel in his mouth as Wilson tugged his suit jacket on, eyebrows raised in question.

“Look. We've discussed this,” House scoffed, folding down against the kitchen island and looking the oncologist over appreciatively. “No kink shaming,” he whined, sticking his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “And you swatted me the last time I called you daddy.”

“Please don’t call me daddy in bed,” Wilson muttered lowly, tone taking on a wary edge before he gathered up his things and started for the door before throwing House a wicked smile over his shoulder. “I told you House, if you want me to _spank_ you, all you have to do is ask.” The door shut behind that smug bastard before House could splutter out a suitable response. And damn the younger man, because House was standing in their kitchen with his body showing interest with only an hour to get to work. Huffing out a heavy sigh, he made his way for the shower. 

And by some miracle, House did manage to get to work with _out_ killing himself on the deathtrap, as Wilson so lovingly referred to the motorcycle. Mostly House was just grateful that Jimmy had gotten past calling it a crotch rocket, which had been cringe-worthy in itself, even if the way Wilson’s mouth had curled there at the edges had been unfairly attractive. But that wasn’t the point, because the Honda was a high-powered automobile and _not_ a euphemism for his dick.

Not that it mattered overly much. Because Wilson was busy with all his precious cue-ball patients. And when House finally swung by to convince the younger man that House _deserved_ lunch for Jimmy’s lack of attention, Amy let him know Wilson had already gone home for the day. And cutting out over four hours early _definitely_ wasn’t something the oncologist did. Actually, it was more like something House would do. But he just pushed into the outer office and harassed the ducklings until Foreman had glared at him in irritation and told him to just go home. Which normally would have irritated him – Foreman playing like he was House’s boss – but House took it for the Godsend it was. He had practically been given the all-clear to head home.

But the apartment was empty, and House’s mind decided, _unhelpfully_ , to fill the silence with thoughts of Jimmy. As he sat there and drank and stewed and plunked out charming little melodies on that _fucking organ_. Because of course, all good things had to come to an end, if even just temporarily and regardless of the fact that House had been _expecting_ it. He had just thought he’d had a bit more time. But the night passed, and Jimmy didn’t come home, and House finally pulled himself off to bed. He laid there, with the cacophony of much too loud thoughts rattling around inside his skull, trying his damnedest to not think about where Wilson might be. And sometime about midnight, after the younger man hadn’t made it into House’s bed for the night, House had gotten up and found the younger man’s door had been completely shut in a clear indication that Jimmy was home and definitely not alone.

And in the morning, _Sam_ had been there, making herself welcome in _their_ kitchen in a way that made House’s chest cinch up stupidly tight. And it definitely hadn’t helped that House had overheard Wilson suggesting that the harpy keep some clothes there, and no amount of joking about the younger man cross-dressing had been able to wash away Sam’s smug smirk. Hadn’t been able to scour “Well, he’s got the legs for it” from House’s mind. Because Jimmy _did_ have the legs for it. And House was totally into seeing that. Just without Sam there. Preferably with Sam just completely cut out of their lives for good, but that didn’t seem like an option at the moment. So, House gritted his teeth and set his jaw and was relatively civil to the blonde. Which was probably not for the best, as Wilson gave him a look like he knew House was winding him up and just wasn’t sure how. Which, to be fair, House was – as he mentioned the milk in the door and volleyed for Wilson to actually be open with just how much it irritated the younger man. Because milk in the door was probably only a step or two down from stealing pharmaceuticals from a dead man. And while Jimmy acted like it didn’t bother him, House could see the tension winding up tight in his shoulders, the pinched smile twisting at his lips. And House knew he had the younger man as he excused himself back to his room.

He knew, without a doubt, that sooner or later Wilson would crumble under one too many irritations and lash out. That the younger man would screw up tighter and tighter and tighter until everything came spilling out. He’d seen it with a glass shattering a century old mirror and a disregard for logical thought over heartbreaking emotion and a stolen apartment. He’d _caused_ it with a cut-through cane and an expensive bottle of scotch lobbed through a stained-glass window and a faked proposal. A hundred instances more over what felt like a lifetime of knowing the younger man.

Because Jimmy _always_ caved.

House hummed to himself as he got ready for work, as he dressed and brushed his teeth. When he left his room and entered the silent living area, House couldn’t help but check the fridge. He tugged the door open and smiled when he noticed the milk shoved way back in the body of the refrigerator. And House knew there it was, the first fissure of Nice Guy Jimmy’s façade cracking. He couldn’t keep from smirking as he closed the door to the apartment behind him, humming to himself as he headed to work.

But of course, because the universe was an _absolute_ dick, the case that was bestowed upon him and his was one about a woman in an open relationship. Because it wasn’t _enough_ for House to be essentially shoved into one but that probably there, fucked up God had to mock him about it. Had to throw it in his face, rub House’s nose in it. Because House wasn’t adamant about a lot of things but one of the big ones, if not the biggest, was that _he didn’t share_. If he was sticking his dick in someone, him and _only_ him got that privilege. But House huffed out a sigh, rubbing at his forehead roughly. Because the patient had been unerringly correct in mentioning that most couples did the whole stepping out thing and at least they were open with each other. Which if he was being honest, _technically_ Jimmy did more of the sticking than him. And well, at least Sam couldn’t stick the oncologist back.

Not that it made the situation any better. Because no, it still roiled jealousy in his guts like some volatile chemical, but House still found himself there anyway; just gritting his teeth and bearing it. All the while thinking that he _could_ do that for Jimmy; that the younger man could have his cake and eat it too if only it would make Wilson happier, keep the younger man in his bed longer. And maybe _Tom_ was onto something there, giving his wife free reign to step out as she desired as long as she still came home to Tom and their children, to their house and probable white picket fence each night. Because he could _almost_ understand the willingness to overlook the sanctity of marriage if only to keep love blooming. Even if it rotted way down deep in his soul.

And God, he was being a sap. Because House wouldn’t even have _begun_ to entertain the thought of his partner frequenting someone else’s bed had it _not_ been Jimmy. It just seemed like a breeding pool for resentment and bitterness, which House didn’t really need help inspiring. But Jimmy was, well . . . he was _Jimmy._ House had known from the start that the younger man had an issue keeping it in his pants. Because two marriages had gone down the drain because Wilson hadn’t been able to limit himself to one bed. And so many of the younger man’s _relationships_ hadn’t moved past the whole _fling_ stage because Jimmy liked to play the field. Which, not that House _blamed_ him. Because if he’d been programed a little differently, House wagered he would have been just as bad as the younger man. But he’d never been one to wade out into shallow emotions, but rather _jump_ until the emotions were over his head and drowning him. Turned out, Stacy had just been a piece of driftwood lobbed into a sea of Jimmy, and House had clung to her to keep from drowning. And sure, maybe he would have been able to love her better, the way she deserved . . . if he hadn’t been so in love with Wilson.

But it was too late for those thoughts. And there he was, having his nose rubbed in it. Damn pretty oncologists with magic dicks that warped House’s already lax moral codes.

So, when House suggested that Tom was betraying his beloved wife in another way, said it with such certainly, it was because House _knew_. He was doing the same, exchanging one betrayal for another. Because there he was, sabotaging Jimmy’s chance at being with Sam. And while he couldn’t just come outright and say _dump her_ , House could pretend to be scandalized at the dishwasher being loaded incorrectly, or the milk in the fridge door, or the banana peels in the bedroom trash. He would _lie_ to the younger man in the biggest way if only so House had a fighting chance for Wilson to stay. Well, for at least as long as the universe would let him have Jimmy.

Not to mention, House had already set things in motion. Had already geared Wilson up for a fight with Sam, because he knew how the younger man was. And how Jimmy was, was unable to unsee the things that had been presented to him. So, House knew the oncologist saw the big bowls in the bottom of the dishwasher and the lacking use of a coaster and not replacing the toilet paper rolls. And that it ate at Jimmy and ate at Jimmy and _ate at Jimmy_ until it would all come together in a well thought out, eloquently stated litany of compulsory word vomit that showed just how much the younger man had overthought it.

And House just had to wait for it. He just had to wait for Jimmy and Sam’s relationship to explode.

“Congratulations House. Sam ended it,” was the only precursor House got to it though. And he had been so sure he would have had way more time to wind Jimmy up. But instead, the younger man had pushed into his office and proclaimed that statement like it was some big plot twist. When really, House had known that was how the love story that was Jimmy and Sam would end all along. And he refused to feel _guilt_ for showing the younger man that Sam hadn’t changed at all, that Wilson was still just a means to an end and a second-string option that was preferable to her ovaries drying up and leaving her a spinster. Because Sam didn’t _deserve_ Wilson – though that was neither here nor there.

So, when House let his mask slip down just a bit and told Jimmy he had just wanted the younger man to fight for what he wanted, House had _stupidly_ wanted Wilson to see _him._ He’d wanted Wilson to see that House was standing there all along, waiting for the oncologist to pull his head out of his ass and accept House with open arms. But instead dear, sweet Jimmy had rolled over once more, had admitted that he should have just kept his mouth shut, shaking his head as if Wilson was stupid or some other such ridiculous notion. And the word _happy_ falling from the oncologist’s lips lanced into House’s chest and left him shaken, even as he offered up one last entreaty – the question of dinner, a promise of domesticity and great sex and maybe happiness. But Jimmy had just left his office without a backward glance, and House was left wondering just how far he’d go to have Jimmy for always.

And so maybe buying Cuddy an expensive espresso machine in hopes of getting back in the good graces of some ancient karma gods to redeposit Wilson in House’s bed was a bit much. But a man could hope.

But what he hadn’t expected was for that fucking espresso machine to have stacked the karma chips firmly in the Helping Wilson category. Because fuck it all, of _course_ any and all of his good karma chips would go toward making the younger man happy. And House huffed out an irritated sigh as he watched Sam leave Wilson’s office, because he knew what that meant. And even if he hadn’t understood it in its entirety _then,_ it was pretty difficult to miss when he came home to _their_ apartment and found them at the table playing cards, laughing and smiling and looking disgustingly _happy_. Even as Wilson folded and House gave him a pointed look but still found himself moving the milk back to the door in a last-ditch effort to keep Jimmy for his ownsome before House locked himself in his room. And he waited.

And he waited.

And he waited. Until the younger man knocked on his door and said Sam was gone and offered up a peace offering of alcohol. And House was _weak_ for a cold beer, and doubly so for a cold beer served to him by an attractive oncologist. Which was how he found himself churlishly seated in one of those big leather chairs, arms crossed over his chest as Wilson handed him over a beer. House took a deep pull on his beer, glancing over at the younger man as Jimmy placed his bottle meticulously on a coaster and turned to sit.

“You’re a brat, you know,” Jimmy huffed out as he threw himself down on the couch and wrinkled up his tidy clothes. His head tipped back along the couch’s cushions, twisting to press his cheek to the fabric and stare at House. House could see the barest hints of a smile pulling at Wilson’s lips, tugging them upward. And the younger man looked stupidly relaxed, stupidly attractive as Wilson looked over at him teasingly, and he slumped back into the couch cushions as if he knew _exactly_ what was going through House’s head. Which, knowing Jimmy, he probably did.

“That’s hardly news,” House grumbled, flipping through channels more aggressively than strictly necessary – because it was back to Jimmy and Sam being a _happy_ couple. And House was back to being the third wheel that sometimes found his way into Jimmy’s bed. And that shit hurt a little more the second time around. Because already House was thinking about the oncologist, taking House up on his halfway offer for Jimmy to keep fucking Sam. He finally settled on _Alfred Hitchcock Presents_ and turned the volume up a little more to dissuade the younger man from talking like Wilson was so wont to do. Not that it worked.

“If . . .” Wilson started before shoving himself upward, body precariously skewed on the edge of the couch, arms pushed out behind him to hold himself up. One of his legs had found its way over the arm of the sofa, the other spread with his foot balanced on the floor. And just that little stint on the couch had fucked his hair up, lending him a debauched look that made House’s chest twist up tight. But in sharp contrast, Jimmy’s eyes were dark and concerned. “Greg, if you’re not okay with this . . .” His words petered out before he pushed them to the tip of his tongue once more. “I don’t have to.”

“It’s fine Jimmy,” he bit out sharply, waving the younger man’s words away. “Doesn’t bother me in the least,” he lied, if only to get Wilson to stop _talking_. Because he _really_ didn’t want to talk about it right then. Honestly, House figured he wouldn’t ever want to talk about it. Because he couldn’t quite stifle down the edge of disappointment he felt cutting along his spine. He glanced over at the oncologist, expecting to see a smugly victorious look pulling across Jimmy’s lips, but instead there was that kicked puppy look again. And Jimmy’s lips pursed tightly, his eyes blinking far too rapidly as he looked anywhere but at House.

“Sure,” and House found his gaze tracking the bob of the younger man’s Adam’s apple as he shoved himself upward. “I think I’m going to bed,” Wilson breathed out, heading for the hallway. “Night House.” And House couldn’t help but think he’d missed something, and there was the infuriating urge to chase after the younger man. To follow him into bed and pull Jimmy close. Right up until he heard Wilson’s door click closed. Scoffing, House made himself at least _try_ to focus on the show.

And somehow, House managed to fall asleep in his chair. He awoke to the sound of Wilson puttering around in the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors and huffing overly loud. House pushed himself into a sitting position, his hips hurting in the most unpleasant sense. Because normally, House’s hips hurting coincided with a pretty good fucking, but instead there were his muscles twisted up from sleeping in the chair. There was a sharp twinge in his lower back, like something had corkscrewed viciously down into the base of his spine.

Groaning, he shifted out of the chair and looked around at the younger man. House could see the irritated line of Jimmy’s shoulders as the oncologist moved about loudly in the kitchen. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to piece together a way to get Jimmy to stop stomping about.

“How about I cook you dinner tonight,” he finally breathed out, stepping closer to the kitchen island as Wilson made coffee.

“Nope. It’s fine,” the oncologist huffed, jabbing the button on the coffee maker with more gusto than was strictly necessary. “I’ll see if Sam can take me off your hands.” Which _that_ punched into House.

“I can make you dinner,” House continued, leaning forward. His arms folded on the island as House peered seriously over at the younger man. _Of course_ he wanted to keep the younger man home, lavishing Wilson in affection and food and acts of service until it broke the oncologist of the urge to roam between beds. Because House wanted to keep Jimmy as close as possible.

“No thanks,” Wilson deferred as he started his coffee mug, adding sugar and a dash of heavy cream while the coffee maker burbled happily. “It’s fine, really.” The heavy, dark scent of coffee filtered into the air, broken by the bright sound of Wilson’s spoon bouncing off ceramic as he stirred. Those words punched into him. House wanted to tell Wilson that he would more than willingly make the younger man dinner as long as Jimmy spent the night in House’s bed only, but House only huffed out a sigh.

“Jimmy,” he started, but Wilson waved his words away as Jimmy made his way back down the hallway and disappeared from view. House waited for the younger man to return, spinning his mug against his palms as he cradled his mug in thought. He leaned against the island, his eyes trained on the hallway as House squeezed his fingers against the cool ceramic. House left his mug on the island and pushed his spine straight as the younger man flitted back into the kitchen, depositing his mug in the sink and running water into it. “Let me make you dinner,” House tried again, changing the composition of his sentence to hint more at _wanting_ to make Jimmy dinner instead of just somehow being guilted into it.

But Wilson just waved him away again as he filled a to-go cup with coffee and dug in the fridge for lunch before spinning around to face House. “Look, House. It’s fine.” Jimmy shrugged, his shoulders rolling under that expensive dress shirt alluringly as Wilson breezed past House. “You don’t have to do that.” And Wilson turned away from House, collecting his coffee and his lunch before breezing toward the living room. “I’ll see you at work,” Jimmy called over his shoulder, the door shutting behind him and leaving House in the quiet of their apartment.

“I _want_ to,” House grumbled, leaving his unused mug on the island and limping down the hall.

Of course, there were about a million things House could think of off the top of his head that Jimmy would think of as a romantic gesture. For starters, he could start actually putting his dirty clothes in the hamper, could actually start dragging said hamper to the laundry room on Saturdays. He could also put the carton in the trash when he drank the last of the milk instead of leaving it in the fridge. He could put the new toilet paper roll on the holder instead of just balanced there, or not leave his towel on the floor, or clean out his stubble trimmings from Wilson’s sink. Not to mention, House could choose to sleep in the wet spot instead of making the younger man take it. But all of that seemed suspiciously close to a relationship-level of compromise. And House didn’t know if he could take that final step when it seemed that Wilson was just as content sharing Sam’s bed as he was sharing House’s. In fact, House felt like just allowing that whole mess of things was a big enough compromise in itself. Especially given that House had been there first.

And House _definitely_ wasn’t thinking that, as he traded out his sleep pants for jeans. Nope. _Not at all._ Because it wouldn’t do for him to get in his head, thinking that maybe him and Jimmy could be in a relationship, _maybe already were_ , because the universe didn’t let him have nice things like James Wilson. Didn’t let him keep stupidly attractive men, who were spectacular in bed, and who were considerate and thoughtful to a point of fault, and who were willing to push back when House pushed too far. Yeah, he definitely didn’t need to think about that, as he brushed his teeth vigorously, digging the bristles down into his gums hard enough to scour those thoughts away until only the washed-out, watery pink of mouth blood remained. Huffing, House crammed his feet down into his sneakers and headed for the door, thumping his cane a bit more aggressively than necessary as the door clicked shut behind him.

In the office, House threw himself down his chair and snatched up the tennis ball, thumping it against the floor more aggressively than strictly necessary in thought. The children had brought him in a handful of potential cases, none of which appealed to him. Of course, it didn’t help that House’s mind was a little preoccupied with Wilson. Who had admittedly swept out of the apartment in a fit of irritation and snagged all of House’s attention, because the younger man was only a couple of glass walls away. House turned to thump his tennis ball against the wall, rattling the frames on the plaster as if he could call Jimmy from his office by the obnoxious sound alone. He hobbled out onto the balcony and tossed a pebble at Wilson’s door. And when that didn’t pan out, House tossed another couple of the small white stones at that glass and metal door.

“Can’t this wait,” Wilson finally bit out, as he yanked the door open and stuck his head out. “I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.” And just to be an asshole, House tossed another pebble. It tinkled brightly as it bounced off the glass by Wilson’s head and tumbled to the ground. The younger man’s shoulders slumped in exasperation. “What, are you a child,” Jimmy quipped, folding his arms across his chest in a way that pulled his doctor’s coat tight against his shoulders.

“There’s this little place I know that makes a pretty bitchin’ burger. Just okay fries though,” House cut in, completely ignoring Jimmy’s valid query. He leaned against the divider between their patios, spreading his hands on the wall.

“Does it happen to be the cafeteria,” Jimmy teased, his lips curling upward in amusement as he drew closer to House until he was leaning against the opposite side. Their hips were only held apart by concrete blocks. Wilson’s hands flattened beside House’s, their thumbs brushing just barely.

“So much for a romantic surprise,” he scoffed, leaning in just a little. It would be so easy to close the gap between them, to press his lips to Wilson’s. But those thoughts were dangerous when at work, so House straightened his spine and put space between them. “Can’t do anything nice for you, can I,” he huffed out churlishly.

“Wait. Were you planning on buying _both_ of our lunches,” Jimmy asked, his tone bright with curiosity as he peered up at House. His eyebrows jumped upward incredulously.

House scoffed. “Don’t be stupid!” House crossed his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t going to make you buy mine.”

Wilson’s features smoothed out into an almost-smile, his eyes practically glittering with mirth. “Oh, of course. How stupid of me to assume otherwise.”

House leaned back against the wall, letting his shoulder brush against the younger man’s. “Hey. I _offered_ to cook you dinner, remember.” He knocked his arm against the oncologist’s. “I was even going to light candles,” House mocked softly, if only to hide the fact that House _had_ kind of planned on lighting candles. Maybe putting on some of the classic stylings of Miles Davis. Probably uncorking that nice Malbec he had chilling in the fridge. Definitely making out on the couch.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jimmy started in, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I know things are rough right now, with Sam and all.” Wilson huffed out a sigh because the younger man was just chalk _full_ of sighs.

The door opened, and Amy stuck her head out, peering at Wilson through her dark glasses. “Doctor Wilson? Your eleven-thirty is here.” And just behind her, House could make out one of Jimmy’s cue-ball patients standing awkwardly in Wilson’s office. Which was all it took to pull Jimmy’s attention back inside, heading toward the door with a wave in House’s direction.

“Guess I’ll just see you tonight,” House muttered darkly as Jimmy’s door clicked shut behind him. And House scrubbed his hands roughly over his hair with a huff. He shoved himself upright and limped into his office, slamming the door roughly behind him.

House managed to avoid work for the rest of the day, hiding out from Cuddy in various patient rooms. He tried not to dread going home to that empty apartment, not that it kept House from leaving twenty minutes early. And in the quiet of the condo, House yanked the fridge open and retrieved a beer, opening it more aggressively than necessary. He drank half of it in one long gulp, his throat working hard to keep the alcohol out of his lungs. And with a heavy sigh, he threw himself down on the sofa, kicking his feet up as he flipped through the channels mindlessly.

To say House was surprised when Wilson walked through the door was an understatement. But the door closed behind Jimmy, and Jimmy alone, as the younger man stepped delicately into the living room. Deft fingers tugged at the knot of Wilson’s tie as he dumped his briefcase and suit jacket in a chair, completely ignoring the fact that the hall closet was for those things in a way that sparked want in House’s guts. Because Jimmy had a place for everything, and the blatant disregard for that place was something a little naughty and definitely something House could get behind.

“So,” he started, looking up and turning the TV down some.

“Sam’s working late,” Wilson huffed out, throwing himself down in a chair opposite of House, thumbing open the first few buttons at his collar. His head tipped back, lolling on his neck to regard House lazily. “And I thought maybe you’d make me dinner? I deserve to be wined and dined.” Jimmy bit at his bottom lip, but still the smile spilled out at the corners, creasing his eyes in a way that told House the younger man was teasing, but House couldn’t help but agree. If the younger man wanted House to wine and dine him, House could do that. He shoved himself to his feet, looming over the younger man. Jimmy looked up at him through his lashes, his smile suddenly melting away. And it took House everything in him to not lean down and kiss the oncologist. Again, Jimmy bit at his lip nervously, the flesh slipping out from under the sharp edge of his teeth.

Which that was the last straw, House leaning forward to rub his thumb along Jimmy’s lip, digging the tip down into the swell of flesh. Wilson’s eyes darkened marginally, and House swallowed because there was that arousal simmering lowly between them. “I’ve got duck in the fridge. How do you feel about roasted duck breast, a fig and port sauce, some sautéed asparagus?” His voice came out lower than he’d intended, roughened around the edges as the younger man peered up at him darkly. Honestly, the recipe would take a few hours, but given the way Wilson was looking at him, House had no doubt they could find something to occupy their time. “I can maybe whip up some champagne truffles with the right incentive.” House couldn’t help himself, pressing his thumb forward slightly to feel the edges of Jimmy’s teeth, the younger man’s tongue ghosting against his skin. Wilson nipped at his thumb, his fingers curling around House’s wrist as the younger man pulled him closer to the chair, doing something complicated to stand while he tugged House closer.

“Or we can order in,” Wilson murmured, his other hand cupping around House’s neck and pulling him in almost to kissing distance. House could feel Wilson’s breath on his lips, smelling like faded mint and bitter coffee and way hotter than it had any right to be. “Maybe pizza.”

“Thought I was supposed to be wining and dining,” House huffed with very little bite, fighting back the urge to close the gap. Because Jimmy’s forehead had tipped to his, the tip of his nose just barely brushing House’s. He snagged a finger in Wilson’s belt loop, tugging just a little until the younger man was slotted right up against him. The younger man dipped his head, nibbling along the line of House’s jaw as his arm dropped to loop around House’s waist, pulling them impossibly closer together.

“Oh.” Wilson nipped at the hinge of his jaw. “If you’re absolutely _set_ on it, sure.” Those teeth were worrying at House’s throat. “Because I was thinking we could just go to bed.” House groaned, letting the younger man pull him through the living room, leading him backward toward the hallway. The whole motion was hotter than it had any right being as Jimmy dragged him confidently toward the bedroom.

“You’re such a sap,” House scoffed, letting Jimmy drag him toward House’s room, his hand landing there at Wilson’s waistband. His thumb slipped up under that expensive dress shirt, drawing lazy designs against the younger man’s skin. “The romanticism really did it for you, huh,” he huffed out as Jimmy flopped down on the bed, legs spreading around House’s thighs. House stared down at Wilson, feeling want punch down into him at the sight of the younger man stretched out before him. He leaned down, ignoring the twinge in his leg to smooth his palms along the oncologist’s chest possessively. House could feel the heave of muscle, of bone as the younger man breathed. He pulled his hands down to curl his fingers around Jimmy’s belt, tugging lightly and making Wilson’s hips roll upward.

“If you want to cook me dinner, you’ll have to let me off the bed,” Wilson intoned, his arms planting in the sheets behind him and heaving the younger man upward at an angle. Cold espresso eyes peered up at House, darkening as he looked up at House through lowered lashes and his eyebrows tilted upward in question. And Wilson looked infuriatingly sincere. Like _that_ was an option, as Wilson’s legs clenched around his hips lightly. Like there was any chance that unless his heart fucking _gave out_ that House was planning on letting the younger man up off the bed.

“We can order pizza after,” he scoffed, his hands sliding up along Wilson’s chest firmly to curve over the younger man’s shoulders. House shuffled forward until his thighs pressed against the mattress. He dipped his head, lips nearly skating along Wilson’s. House nipped at Jimmy’s bottom lip, laving his tongue against it before he pushed the younger man back onto the bed. Wilson smiled up at him as his hands drifted down along the seam of his shirt buttons before landing along his belt buckle. And House’s mouth went dry, watching as Jimmy toyed at undoing his belt. And _Jesus_ , he made such a pretty picture, skin flushed with arousal and lips parted, his shirt undone and flared around him on the bed.

“I don’t mind being on top,” Wilson started, slowly undoing his belt as his head tipped back, pinning House in place with impossibly dark eyes. “But I really want you in me, Greg.” And didn’t _those_ words punch into him, choke him. Because House wanted that too. _Jesus_ did he want that. He leaned forward, bracketing the younger man against the bed. It was like all that _want_ was too heavy, pressing down leadenly between his shoulder blades until his elbows folded and let him pin the oncologist to his bed. And the feel of Wilson under him, the younger man’s legs sliding up along House’s hips, was mind-bogglingly perfect. Because House could _feel_ Jimmy undoing his belt and his zip, pushing his pants and boxers down, his erection pressing up against House’s stomach eagerly. The sound of Jimmy’s slacks and boxers hitting the floor was a Pavlovian cue to his dick, making it throb and leak where it was trapped in his jeans. Wilson’s mouth slid along his throat hungrily, his fingers curling into House’s shirt and pulling as his hips rocked upward, his length slipping brand-hot beneath House’s tee as the oncologist’s hips rocked more insistently. “Unless you don’t want to fuck me.”

“I always want to fuck you,” and the words clawed their way roughly out of him, unfairly hot and desperately true as House’s hips rolled down against Wilson’s. The younger man’s knees slipped up along the ridge of House’s lower ribs, his ankles lacing loosely behind House’s back. And God, Jimmy was pretty that close up, with his pupils blown wide and lip bitten pink. It bolted through his sensory system as House leaned down more fully against the younger man, his forearms bracketing Wilson’s head as he rolled his hips down against Jimmy’s. And the feeling of the hard jut of the younger man’s cock against his hip turned his world on its fucking axis, pulling House’s hips down harder. “Always,” he groaned, mouthing at Wilson’s throat.

House shifted, his hips slipping downward as his knees bent. It had taken them a handful of times to figure it out since the ketamine had worn off. To figure out how House could best fuck Jimmy without fucking up his leg. Before then, it had taken a few Vicodin and a few swallows of bourbon. But as it was, House had given up Vicodin and traded his bourbon up for scotch. So, his knees were pressed into the mattress and Wilson’s legs had slid upward. House could hold the position for a few minutes when they got into the nitty-gritty of fucking, and already he was planning on holding the position for as long as House’s leg would allow. House’s hands curled around Jimmy’s hips, pulling the younger man up against him. He groaned low in his chest as Wilson’s hands slid along his back, fingers curling in House’s shirt and digging at his back. And there were too many clothes, specifically too many of _his_ clothes, because his jeans were uncomfortably tight and his boxers were uncomfortably damp. House managed to wedge a hand down between them, eternally grateful _he_ didn’t wear belts because he was definitely having a hard enough time just undoing the button, the zip as Wilson’s nails dug down through his shirt in a fucking deliciously impatient way. It felt like a minor miracle he was able to struggle out of his jeans, especially when Wilson was pulling at him in that _fuck me_ way, the younger man’s hips lifting impatiently.

“Please,” Jimmy panted, his hips rolling upward as he pulled at House. And House let himself go, let himself press more firmly against the younger man while Wilson’s thighs clamped at his sides with a quiver. Wilson’s head tipped back into the pillows with a gasp, the younger man’s hips rolling up restlessly as Jimmy’s fingertips dug down hard into House’s back. And that touch of skin on skin carved him upside, dug down into his lungs and rendered them useless, because Christ it was good. “Nnh,” Jimmy whined, his hips jerking upward against House’s, his fingers digging down into the meat of House’s shoulder blades and pulling him closer. And House jerked forward, that sound pulling his hips onward. His jeans had slipped down low on his hips, and House wagered if he kept rutting against the younger man eventually his dick would just spring free.

He dipped his head to bite and suck at the line of Jimmy’s throat as his hands curled around Wilson’s thighs, squeezing and pulling. House’s breath clotted in his chest as he tried to swallow around the lump somewhere near his Adam’s apple. “Like this,” House huffed out, leaning down to fold himself against the younger man as they both fussed with House’s jeans, trying to get them pushed down and around his ankles in the shortest amount of time possible. Wilson smiled up at him, his legs knotting more firmly behind House’s back as his hips rocked upward, and the pressure of Jimmy’s heels in his lower back was something that instinctually pulled him forward more aggressively. And the velvet-steel glide of Jimmy’s dick against his snagged at House’s breath. House gasped out a breath as their lengths brushed, brand-hot and slick with precum. His fingers curled tightly along Wilson’s thighs, pulling the younger man more firmly against him. “God Jimmy,” House practically sobbed, rocking his hips down against Wilson’s as their erections ground against one another. House rolled his hips against Jimmy’s in that relentless pursuit of orgasm. As their hips ground and rocked together filthily, House could feel the precum swelling in his length and dribbling out of his tip. Wilson's hands dug into his hair, pulling as Jimmy’s back bowed and his hips canted upward. And House couldn’t help himself, as he pressed Wilson down into the mattress and rutted against the younger man enthusiastically as his hindbrain firmly bullied his forebrain into silence. House bit at the crook of Jimmy’s neck as his hips stuttered forward, House groaning against the younger man’s skin. His hips hunched against Wilson’s, their lengths sliding slickly against one another’s. And it bolted down into House, gripping his guts tightly in a hot clench as House rocked and ground his hips against Jimmy’s. Already his pleasure was coiling tightly around the base of his spine, cinching tighter with each motion.

“Scoot back,” House gasped out, squeezing at Wilson’s hips and urging him upward on the bed. Wilson chuckled softly before scooting backward, his peachy-perfect ass wiggling backward over the sheets to rest back against the pillows. Wilson shrugged off his dress shirt as Jimmy’s legs spread wide, his cock bobbing eagerly. And House clamored over the bedclothes toward the younger man, suddenly anxious to get his hands on the stupidly attractive oncologist with a magic dick. House’s fingers curled around the oncologist’s knees, pushing Jimmy’s legs open wider as House climbed between Wilson’s thighs. He tugged impatiently at the hem of the younger man’s undershirt, pulling it upward just so he could have a naked Jimmy in his bed.

Jimmy leaned back into the pillows, his legs bending at the knees to frame House’s hips as the younger man looked up at him, his fingers knotting House’s tee. The oncologist’s eyes have darkened to the consistency of a tar pit, sticking House in place as the younger man looked up at House. House pulled in a deep breath and lowered his body along Wilson’s, letting their bodies stick together sensually. And House dipped his head to Wilson’s throat, kissing and sucking. He ground his hips forward into the slick nest of Jimmy’s groin as Wilson panted and groaned in House’s ear, the younger man’s fingers curling sharply in House’s thinning hair. House let Wilson pull his face more firmly against Jimmy’s throat, his hips juddering against House’s roughly as stubble scrabbled at the tender skin and House bit at the oncologist’s pulse. The slick slide of their erections together caught at his breath, pulling his hips forward quicker, and House had the suddenly _embarrassing_ thought that it would all be over before he even got his dick in Wilson.

House pressed his face firmly against the line of Wilson’s throat, just there around the hinge of Jimmy’s jaw, as he panted. “Jesus Jimmy,” he groaned, his hips dipping down to grind against Wilson more firmly. And _Christ_ did the younger man feel good, his hard length slipping and catching along Jimmy’s as their hips pulled together. House’s hands dropped to Jimmy’s hips, pulling the younger man in tighter against him, their hips rutting together lazily. “I gotta get the lube,” House managed to pant out, his fingers curling tight along the juts of the younger man’s hips. “Or I’m gonna cum like this.”

Wilson managed to huff out an amused sounding noise, his head tipping back into the pillows. “Nothing wrong with that,” he breathed out, his chest heaving. And House pressed wet kisses along the line of his throat, the hollow there, along the sharp ridge of Wilson’s collarbone.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” he said in between bites to Jimmy’s skin, watching the pale flesh bloom bright pink possessively. Which was apparently all House needed to say, as the younger man stretched out under him and managed to twist at the right angle to dig around in House’s bedside table. House pressed a kiss against the bared cage of Wilson’s ribs, smirking because the younger man was pretty flexible when it came to fucking. Not to mention Jimmy was _all for_ doing most of the work if only so House could stay in position, because it was hard enough to find a position for fucking that didn’t make House’s ruined thigh hurt but it was almost impossible finding it _again_ once he’d lost it. And that consideration bloomed affectionately in his chest as House pulled off his shirt, needing to feel every inch of Wilson’s skin branded down onto his.

He shifted in the sheets, pushing the heavier covers to the edges of the mattress because they could, and _would_ , throw him off balance. House pulled his right thigh up at an angle, letting his knee bear down into the mattress. He couldn’t hold that position for too long, but he could definitely hold it long enough to get his dick in Wilson’s tight ass and fuck him like the younger man wanted. Jimmy’s leg tentatively slotted itself in the bend of House’s right hip in an effort to avoid his ruined thigh, because there was the oncologist being considerate and tender with him. House groaned. Honestly, the heavy weight of Wilson’s thigh resting hotly against the wreckage wrought along his femur was like a heating blanket. It bore down into the withered muscles and soothed them in the best way. House tipped his face into the crook of Wilson’s neck, breathing heavily as his hips rolled forward lazily. If Jimmy hadn’t asked House to fuck him, then getting off just like that with them slotted together tightly would have been more than perfect. House pulled his palm along Wilson’s thigh, his fingers digging down into supple flesh as he went.

“Have we progressed to the lube portion of tonight’s event yet,” Wilson quipped, shifting a bit on the bed under House and grinning up at him. “Or do you just want to rub off on each other some more.” And it was so apparent that the younger man was teasing, but House could see that hungry thing edging there at Jimmy’s gaze, felt the way it cut sharply at House’s chest. Because Wilson wanted him, but there the oncologist was letting House dictate how the evening progressed. But then again, Jimmy always was so much more considerate than House, who would have already demanded Wilson have fingers in him if their positions had been reversed. In his defense, House could hardly be held accountable for his gruff mannerisms when he had a stupidly hot younger man, eager and willing, in his bed. Wilson shook the little bottle of lube at him, eyebrows lifting expectantly.

“Why do I have to do all the work,” House scoffed, taking the bottle and snicking the lid of it open. Normally he would at least do Jimmy the briefest of common courtesies and _warm_ the lube up, but as it was House was feeling pretty rushed. His orgasm was still simmering just under his skin, and he was pretty sure if Wilson just rocked up against him a handful more of times that House would wind up embarrassing himself between them. He bit sharply at the inside of his cheek as he fished a hand down between their bodies, feeling the bright barb of pride when Wilson’s breath hitched as House drew an aimless circle around the furled rim of his entrance.

“I’m hardly in the right position to do it,” Wilson countered, his forehead furrowing as if he was working overly hard at thinking. His hips barely shifted backward, pressing into House’s touch in such a lovely way, because Jimmy was _so_ responsive. “I mean, unless you want my knee dug into your chest while I finger mys-” and whatever else Jimmy had planned on saying went right out the proverbial window, his head falling back with a puff of breath, mouth parted and eyes screwed up tight. His hands managed to find purchase in the sheet, bunching and pulling as his lungs worked to suck in a deep enough breath. And sure, House could have taken his time, drawn it out, but that was Jimmy’s thing. Not to mention the faster he got his fingers in Wilson, the sooner he could get his dick in the younger man. And why start with one finger when House could start with _two._ He spread his fingers, fucking them in and out of that tight clench of muscle, pulling at Jimmy’s breath apparently because the younger man was panting low and rough between them. House dipped his head to press sucking kisses along that lovingly bared throat, feeling the younger man’s Adam’s apple quiver, almost tasting that appreciative hum. House screwed his fingers in deeper, crooking to rub against Jimmy’s prostate teasingly.

“Too much,” House asked, begrudgingly concerned because those muscles were delicate, and the sight of blood on his cock was kind of a boner killer. He tugged his fingers out, closing them in tight against one another to lessen the stretch, because House could feel the tremble of Jimmy’s knees against his sides. And maybe it had been too much, too fast. But then, there was Wilson canting his hips backward, chasing the outward slide of his fingers with a soft, breathy noise. His mouth had fallen slack, busted open as Jimmy sucked in rasping breaths, his hips pushing down after House’s fingers more aggressively.

“More,” the younger man gasped out, eyes still screwed up tight above flushed cheeks. And House couldn’t help the coil of affection that dug down in his chest, barbing at his lungs. Because Jimmy for all his pretty boy looks was made of tougher stuff, especially when it came to dicking down. But still, he was a little apprehensive to just cram another finger in alongside the first two and keep on fucking them roughly into the younger man. Especially when Wilson’s fingers were digging pretty firmly in House’s flesh, nails somehow digging down through skin and muscle like the oncologist was trying to gouge his initials into House’s bones. He pulled his fingers out completely, reaching for the lube even as Wilson offered up some reedy whine of displeasure, his hips shifting around in the sheets. House coughed out a laugh, though the feeling of lube slicking down over his fingers made it more of a choked sound, something needy and desperate as his fingers smoothed along Jimmy’s rim, three fingers deliberately pressing against that furl in a way that had Wilson’s hips canting back. The younger man pressed back, his hips rocking in such a way that managed to fuck just the fingertips into his greedy hole, and House couldn’t fucking breathe. He bit at Wilson’s neck more roughly, pushing those fingers up into the downward rock of Jimmy’s hips, screwing the digits in as deep as they would go and spreading against that surprised clench of Wilson’s muscles.

Fucking his fingers in and out of that hot grasp, House panted against Jimmy’s neck. Because for all the grief he gave Wilson about _too much prep_ he didn’t think there actually was such a thing. Again, blood on one’s dick tended to be a bit of a boner killer. That _didn’t_ mean that he was going to treat the younger man like glass though, as he hurried through the motions and listening acutely to any sound Jimmy uttered up. But so far, it had just sounded like punched-out pleasure, the younger man’s muscles all winding up tight and clinging to him.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me,” Wilson panted against the delicate curls of cartilage of House’s ear, those words screwing down into his brain and stirring up primordial instincts. The younger man’s fingers dug down into his flesh, hooking in and pulling him closer as Jimmy’s hips rolled up into House’s, grinding roughly as Wilson pulled. And House was unable to keep from grinding down aggressively. The slick-slid slip of their precum-slick lengths choked him. It wasn’t fair how the younger man keyed him up.

“I guess I can,” House grumbled, feeling anticipation pool warmly in his belly. His dick twitched eagerly.

Wilson snorted, tipping his head back into the pillows. “You make it sound like a real hardship.”

“Definitely hard,” House quipped breathlessly as he rolled his hips down against Jimmy’s. Which earned him an amused huff of noise pulled out of the younger man’s chest, eyeroll implied. And House pulled his fingers free of that vise-like grip, squeezing roughly around the base of his dick because it really wasn’t fair how much Jimmy wound him up. “I mean, I think I can manage.”

“How generous of you,” Jimmy said, voice pulled breathy and soft as House pressed the tip of his cock against that tight furl of muscle. He rolled his hips forward teasingly, the motion creating just enough pressure to _almost_ push past those muscles but not quite. Wilson’s fingers curled sharply against his shoulders as the younger man huffed out a displeased noise at the tease. “Greg,” the younger man started in, and House could see where his teeth gritted together, his hips canting back in entreaty.

And who was House to say no to that. After all, he was merely a man of willing flesh and red blood with an attractive oncologist in his bed made of the same willing flesh and red blood. House tipped his hips down to more firmly meet Jimmy’s. His fingers dug in hard into the sheets as he pushed past that resistance, feeling the heat of it punch into him because that scalding hot clench was glorious. Because Jimmy was _fucking perfect_ for it, for opening to him as his hips pressed back in welcome and to encourage more. Always more. House buried his face in the crook of Wilson’s neck, mouth open and panting against the sweat-slick skin there. Blunt nails scratched roughly at his skull, pulling through House’s short hair as Jimmy clung to him. And the feel of bottoming up crushed him, burned him up, hollowed him out in the best possible way as House bit roughly at Jimmy’s neck and felt those breathy noises under his lips. He should have given the younger man a moment to catch his breath, it was the _polite_ thing to do after all, but House decidedly wasn’t polite. Not to mention, Wilson liked it when he was a little rough around the edges, though House wasn’t sure who that said more about. So, as such, House gave a filthy little grind before pulling his hips back smoothly. It was more of rolling motion than an actual thrust but it got the point across House assumed, especially if the little breathy noises in his ear were anything to go by. And Jimmy was so _good_ like that, with his thigh gripping at House’s hip and his body doing some obscene roll to chase every single one of House’s motions. House was beyond grateful for the bright scratches of pain along his skin, because Wilson’s nails were scrabbling at his back and while he _loved_ to wear the marks from a particularly good fucking. It felt a bit like tempting fate wearing Jimmy’s marks with Sam hanging about, but House was willing to place that bet.

The hard, wet slide of Wilson’s dick against his stomach did _things_ to him, urging House harder, deeper. And he would gladly ignore the twinge in his thigh if Jimmy would keep whimpering like that. Because the grinding push-pull of their bodies moving as one was _definitely_ something he’d missed. House groaned low in his chest, dropping a hand to curl crushingly around the jut of the younger man’s hip and pull him up just slightly. Jimmy went easily, his leg curling around the join of House’s groin. The heavy flex of those muscles pulled House forward with something dangerously close to abandon as he chased that pooling, liquid-honey pleasure there at the base of his spine. He bit roughly along Wilson’s collarbone toward his neck, sucking sharply at the pale skin if only to taste that copper-bright thrum of blood against his tongue. Wilson groaned, tugging at his hair until House pulled back, jerking his hips forward and stilling. The mark wasn’t nearly dark enough, nearly red enough, nearly possessive enough as House pressed his thumb against it as if to keep it from fading away.

“What did I tell you about hickeys,” Wilson gasped, his glare much less effective than he was probably going for what with his pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed pink. House smoothed his thumb along the mark again, reveling in the throb of Jimmy’s pulse in the center of it, before pressing down once more. The younger man gasped against that hurt, head tilting back as his eyes fluttered closed and his whole body seemingly clenched down wherever House’s body met his. And House was unable to resist the pull of that bared throat, nipping and kissing his way toward the hollow as Jimmy’s fingers pulled his mouth impossibly closer. His mouth found that blood-hot mark and nipped it playfully before his tongue rasped along it. House had never been one for childish marks of conquest, but Christ there was something about Jimmy that made him want to suck love bites of ownership into every inch of the younger man’s skin. 

House grinned down at the oncologist, his hips rolling lazily as his fingers bore down bruisingly against Wilson’s hip. “Can barely see it,” he crooned, leaning forward to brush his lips against Wilson’s, catching a sharp nip for his trouble, even as Jimmy’s hips tipped back into his and his leg flexed, pulling House deeper into that hot clench of Wilson’s perfect ass.

“You’re lucky that orgasming is clearly a more pressing issue,” Jimmy huffed out, his body doing a downward shimmy against House’s dick.

He flattened a hand beside the younger man’s head and held himself up, leering down at Wilson who glared right back. “Oh, is it.” He squeezed at Jimmy’s hip as he fought back to urge to continue that lazy rock up into the younger man’s body.

Wilson’s nostrils flared in agitation, his eyes squinting shut. “That’s hardly fair,” he said softly, his tone something reedy and broken with need. “It’s not like I can just push you back and _take_.”

Which that had been true, to an extent, only a few months ago. Back when the Vicodin had had House’s mind so twisted up that it made the pain ten times worse and had told him to not even _think_ about Jimmy riding him. But detox and therapy had done wonders. And yeah, his leg hurt, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything a few extra-strength ibuprofen wouldn’t take the edge off of. Especially if it resulted with a lapful of James Wilson.

“Well, obviously,” House scoffed. “It’s rude to push a cripple, Jimmy.” And _that_ got the younger man’s attention, didn’t it. Because there was Wilson looking up at him, eyes hungry and dark. It did pretty spectacular things for his ego when Wilson looked at him like that. House pulled out, earning him a breathy noise for his trouble, Wilson’s eyes slipping closed. He flopped over, wallowing down against the pillows while he watched Wilson’s chest shudder. Jimmy rolled over onto his hands and knees, peering up at him eagerly. And the younger man looked good like that. House felt the missed opportunity to have the oncologist doggy style when he’d had the chance acutely, some visceral feeling that coiled down behind his ribs and yanked. House leaned back against the headboard and folded his hands high on his stomach, looking at the younger man patiently.

“You’re serious,” Wilson breathed out, crawling between House’s legs. His palms smoothed along House’s thighs, his sides as Jimmy slipped into his lap. He leaned forward to nip at House’s collarbone, to rock his erection into the soft swell of House’s belly as Wilson’s thighs spread around his hips. Heat pooled in his guts as House curled his fingers along Wilson’s hips, pulling the younger man closer as his legs slipped closer together.

“Mm,” he hummed, letting himself relax under the slow push of Wilson’s strong hands over his chest, his shoulders before Jimmy’s fingers curved over the top of the headboard. House tipped his head up to look at the younger man, who managed to have a ravenous look in those dark eyes as if Wilson was planning on consuming him. And House figured there were worse ways to go. “Unless you’d rather just rub off on each other.”

Wilson huffed an amused sound at him, but his eyes were still those dark pools of desire. “But you get so deep like this.” And those words punched into him, made his dick twitch and drool as his nails dug into Jimmy’s hips, pulling. House dropped a hand to his cock, squeezing roughly because he was a little worried those words might push him over the edge alone. He pulled at Jimmy’s hip, canting his up as much as he was able while rubbing his tip along Wilson’s cleft. The younger man smirked down at him, tilting his head down to press his forehead to House’s as his hips rolled down teasingly. House tugged at the younger man’s hips more impatiently. Wilson scratched his nails lightly through House’s hair, his hips dropping and twisting leisurely. His head dropped back with a low groan, his hips rocking up into that hot clench of Jimmy’s body.

“Fuck,” he huffed out, because the position was tight, pulling his hips upward helplessly as House dug nails down into the soft flesh of Wilson’s hips. And Jimmy’s forehead just pressed hard against his as the younger man rocked his hips, humming appreciatively as his eyes slipped shut. House tipped his hips up, sucking in a shuddering breath. And he hated it if only because it was so fucking perfect. The hot, tight clench of Jimmy’s body as Wilson settled lightly in his lap. House dipped his head to the crook of Wilson’s neck, one of his hands making the slow journey from hipbone to shoulder and back again as the younger man shifted in his lap. And then Jimmy did something obscene with his hips, a grinding roll that choked all of House’s breath from his lungs and left him clutching at the younger man.

He rocked up into that roll, trying to suck a deep enough breath in and failing as one of his hands fell onto Wilson’s thighs and clenched, feeling the sharp flex of muscle. And _Christ_ Jimmy was right, because it felt like his cock was wedged somewhere up near Wilson’s diaphragm, and House _swore_ he could feel that thick band of muscle fluttering as Jimmy breathed. His mouth once against found that little hot spot near Wilson’s throat as his teeth worried the skin as he pulled the younger man down tighter against him, and Jimmy’s hips rolled down beautifully, grinding along in some eons-old dance that burned all the air from his lungs. House reached between them, pulling his palm along Jimmy’s erection and knocking the younger man’s rhythm off slightly, before Wilson’s legs spread in an attempt for better friction. House let himself rest back against the headboard, head tilting up to stare into those hungry, dark eyes. Because he knew that straight line of the younger man’s spine, Jimmy’s classic _dick down_ stance, like some Olympian doing warm up stretches.

A broad hand curled in the crook of his neck, Jimmy’s thumb smoothing along the hollow of House’s throat before the younger man pushed him back more firmly against the headboard. And their mouths collided together in a messy tangle of too many teeth and too much tongue, of gasped out breath and hitching sounds as Wilson moved above him. Each downward slide of those tight hips, the twist and grind of them as House bottomed out, pulled at that knot of pleasure tied around the base of his spine. And Jimmy, _bless him,_ licked into his mouth and bit at his lip and pressed his fingers into House’s throat in a startlingly present way. House struggled to keep pace, to match the feel of Wilson pressing back on his throbbing dick with the precum-slick slide of Jimmy’s pretty cock through his fingers. There was limited technique what with Wilson’s body crushed so close, just that desperate fuck of that hard length through the circle of his hand as Wilson spread his legs further and ground down more recklessly. House drew nails sharply down Jimmy’s thigh, his hips trying to cant up in the correct pattern, but honestly he was just hanging on for the ride. And _Christ_ it was good, like a _religious experience_ good. House hooked his fingers into the small of the younger man’s back, pulling Wilson down fully against him so House could fuck up into the hot clench of Jimmy’s body.

“Nnh,” Wilson panted against his lips, undoing him like wet tape, as the younger man ground down against him, fingers hooking around the hard lines of House’s shoulders. Jimmy bit haphazardly at his lips, crushing their mouths together in a not-quite kiss. And House couldn’t quite get the range of motion to stroke Wilson anymore, not fully anyway as he squeezed at that brand-hot length, twisting and doing the best he could as Jimmy smooshed against his chest and whined. The younger man’s hips rolled, his body clenching hard along House’s dick. Jimmy’s forehead collided with his a little bit harder than House might’ve expected, shocking a gasp from him as Wilson whined and panted, spilling between them in a hot, viscous dribble of cum between his fingers, staining his shirt. He could feel in where it striped his chest, steeping down to his skin like a brand as Jimmy ground down hard against him. And the bright scrape of nails against his skin shocked his orgasm out of him, undoing that tight knot as Wilson ground down against him and House rocked upward, spilling into that tight clench. His fingers dug into supple flesh, dragging the younger man tighter against him as House dig his best to fuck up into that clench.

Jimmy’s forehead slipped down to press against the hard line of his collarbone, as the younger man held himself up with quivering thighs. House slid his hand down from Wilson’s back to pull lazily against Jimmy’s trembling legs. Wilson huffed out an almost laugh, pressing closer to House and lifting up off him just barely. House bit at Jimmy’s shoulder to keep the embarrassing noise from dislodging from his chest at that fucked out, overstimulated feel of his dick slipping free.

“You’re messy,” House finally managed, swallowing hard as Wilson flopped back on the bed.

“You’re the one who didn’t want to use condoms,” Wilson muttered, turning his face to press against House’s knee. The heavy exhale tickled the sensitive skin at the ditch of his knee.

“I don’t have you regularly tested to use a rain poncho,” he scoffed, letting a hand spread along Jimmy’s thigh. House shifted and snagged his shirt off the bedside table, wiping at his damp chest and groin before passing it along to the younger man. The look of almost-disgust would have been comical, if House hadn’t seen the affection hedging at the edge of Wilson’s lips.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Sorry. All out of socks.”

The smile broke free, followed closely with a breathed out laugh as Wilson wiped at the worse parts of their mess. Wilson’s head fell back into the sheets as he dropped the dirty shirt over the edge of the bed. “I think I’m dehydrated.”

“You’re on your own there,” House grumbled, shifting down more comfortably into the pillows. “I’m not leaving the bed anytime soon.”

The younger man twisted around to drop his head on the pillows near House’s. Already his eyes were drifting shut, his features going lax as Wilson reached out to rub mindlessly at House’s thigh. The feel of Jimmy’s breath flaring along his skin was oddly comforting, the weight of the younger man’s head against the point of his shoulder. Before he could think about it too much, House slipped an arm under Jimmy’s head, pulling the oncologist closer for _just a little while_ he promised himself.

House woke up sometime around eight, which was a hellishly early time for an empty bed. He patted at the sheets, fingers digging down into the cool spot where Jimmy had laid only a few hours before. For a moment, his mind tried to grind into awareness as House swallowed hard and tried to wake up. He could hear the rattle of water in the pipes and found himself smiling. His thigh hurt in a desperate sort of way. Huffing out a sigh, House slowly pushed himself into a seated position before easing himself off the bed. For a startling moment, he worried the wrecked mess of muscles wouldn’t hold his weight. House sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing aimlessly until the worst of the hurt abated. Jimmy deserved coffee after fucking him like _that_. Smiling to himself, House retrieved a new pair of boxers and balanced against the dresser to put them on. And rubbing his leg, he made his way into the kitchen for coffee.

He leaned against the counter as he filled the filter, added the water, started the expensive machine up. His back tingled, an indication of taxed muscles and scratched skin, but it had been worth it. It was _always_ worth it. Never had fucking, or being fucked by, James Wilson _not_ been worth it. House rolled his shoulders as if he could knock the ache out of his joints with the motion. He let his head tip forward on his neck.

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” Wilson huffed out, stepping into the kitchen with his hands already on his hips, and House was hard pressed not to smirk as he turned around to stare at Jimmy. Because the younger man’s shirt was mostly done up, his tie slung around his neck, but there just off the hollow of his throat was House’s mark. It had darkened overnight, deepening from a dusty pink to a color like spilled wine. It was a little bigger than a quarter, its shape a rough approximation of his mouth, and a mark of ownership that struck a Pavlovian chord in his subconscious. Wilson shook his head in agitation, doing up those top buttons as his pretty mouth pursed sourly. “You’re a child,” he sighed in exasperation.

“What’s that say about you,” House scoffed, leaning back against the counter and watching as Wilson covered up _his_ mark, pulling thick silk around to cover up the bruise.

“That I’m prone to lapses in judgment,” Wilson quipped, stepping closer to fix him a cup of coffee. House caught him about the waist, tugging Jimmy closer as his hand fanned the side of the younger man’s neck. Wilson looked up at him curiously, his dark lashes fluttering. And fresh from the shower, the scent of his bodywash, his cologne was almost palpable – something cloying and warm that hooked in House’s chest and tugged. He brushed his thumb along the starched fold of Jimmy’s collar, the expensive silk before House pressed down against that mark. Jimmy’s eyes glittered at him darkly, and House felt it in his guts like a hot touch.

“Guess you’ll be staying home, huh.” And his voice was certainly breathier than he had expected. House hooked his thumb in Wilson’s shirt collar, tugging it down to catch a glimpse of that mark. The stark kiss of it against Jimmy’s skin stirred up muddy feelings in his chest. And then his bagel popped behind him, shattering the moment.

Wilson shook his head, reaching behind House to snag the bagel before House had a chance to move. “I told you. If this isn’t what you want, it’s fine.” _This_ being a nice umbrella term for the younger man bouncing between him and Sam at will. House swallowed overly hard, because Jimmy wasn’t exactly the _best_ at being a one-hole kind of person. In fact, the last person Wilson had settled down for willingly had been Amber, which stuck at House for a whole different reason.

“Just because I want to capitalize on your time doesn’t mean it’s not fine,” House muttered as he snagged the bottom end of the bagel, which Wilson had already courteously buttered for him, and took a big bite, shoving all those feelings down under a heaping helping of carbs. He made a show of chewing, moving around the kitchen so Wilson couldn’t pin him down. Because the moment he stopped moving, House knew he would start sinking and his face would show the disinterest in sharing, and Wilson would be gone once more. The quiet pulled between them, oppressively smothering, until House jerked to a stop and wheeled around to glare at the younger man. Which was admittedly more difficult than he would have thought, as Jimmy peered up at him with a gaze much too open and tender.

“Do you want to ride in together,” Wilson asked softly, holding his bagel loosely as though he’d forgotten it.

“Is this you trying to manipulate me into getting rid of the bike,” he grumbled, making his way back over to the younger man. And the younger man’s smile pulled lazily at the corners of his mouth as he reached out and smoothed a wrinkle from House’s tee.

“Oh. I’ll get rid of the bike.” Wilson tugged at the fabric before cheekily taking a bite of his bagel and pushing past House. “When I’m done with you, you won’t even miss that deathtrap,” the younger man promised. And House hadn’t explicitly agreed to riding in with Jimmy, but there the oncologist was slinging House’s backpack over his shoulder and looking over at House so expectantly. And honestly, how was House supposed to say _no_ to that. 

And in Jimmy’s sensible sedan, House stretched out his legs as the younger man checked the mirrors before backing up. He huffed out a sigh as he relaxed back into the seat, because sometimes he _really_ missed the back support offered up by a car. House just wasn’t sure if that support outweighed the maneuverability and speed of the bike.

“You know,” Wilson finally said, a smug edge to his words that House tried desperately to hate. But a smug Jimmy was pretty perfect. “Sam’s at a conference until Sunday night anyway,” the younger man exhaled before signaling and pulling into traffic. And House fought the urge to groan, letting his head thump back against the headrest before he looked over at the oncologist. Yep, smug Jimmy looked as good as he remembered.

“Doctor Wilson,” House gasped out, trying for scandalized but falling short. “Is that your way of telling me I can suck until my mouth gets tired?”

Jimmy’s cheeks flushed prettily. “I’m just saying you didn’t need to resort to childish antics for me to spend some time with you.”

“That’s not a _no_ on the sucking,” House leered, watching as Wilson’s cheeks darkened further. There was a sense of satisfaction in seeing the tips of the younger man’s ears turn pink. But Wilson just pulled into his allotted parking space and threw the car in park. And House nearly missed the coy smile that edged at Jimmy’s lips and set his heart to racing. His smile was a thing made of too many teeth even as Wilson slammed the door behind him, because three nights spent with Jimmy was more than House could have hoped for.

Of course, the younger man hadn’t promised anything salacious in the least. But House couldn’t help feeling wound taunt, his eyes straying to the clock more than strictly necessary as he counted down the moments until quitting time. He’d already tried to think of any way possible to convince Cuddy that he and Wilson needed Friday off, including groveling but not limited to blackmail. In the end, she had come out on top, caving once he agreed to increased clinic hours. Even if House had had his fingers crossed behind his back. And was already planning on assigning them to Taub, because idle hands were the Devil’s tools and Taub’s idle hands tended to gravitate toward women who weren’t his wife. Of course, it had been easier for him to convince Cuddy to let dear, sweet Jimmy take off for a _guys weekend_ because Wilson came in early, and Wilson stayed late, and Wilson finished his paperwork on time and infuriatingly perfectly.

“Did you have anything to do with my sudden day off,” Jimmy asked, leaning up against the doorway of House’s office, hands shoved into his pockets. And with the younger man backlit like that did some pretty funny things to his heartbeat. It really wasn’t fair the way Wilson impacted him. “Because Amy just informed me that my appointments for tomorrow have been moved to throughout next week.”

House leaned back in his chair, rubbing his thigh in thought. “That’s strange. Cuddy giving you unsolicited time off seems sketchy.” He scrunched his face teasingly. “Might be a trap. Don’t do it.”

Wilson prowled further into his office, and _that_ did things to House’s guts. “Oh. Here I was thinking we had plans this weekend apparently.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back. “Of _course_ you asked Cuddy!”

Jimmy rested a hip against House’s desk, a smile filtering across his mouth. “Well, obviously I can’t trust you to tell me the truth,” the younger man teased, walking his fingers aimlessly across House’s desk.

“I’m plenty honest,” House scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“Hmm,” Wilson started, running his index finger up over House’s hand. “Are you.”

“To you,” he answered perhaps a bit more honestly than he had planned on, but House tipped his head up defiantly. Because Wilson _saw_ him, _knew_ him, and _stayed_ anyway. House fought the urge to turn his hand over, to lace his fingers with Jimmy’s.

“I read this article about crushing up half a Viagra in a bottle of water,” Wilson suddenly said, shattering the moment and making House smile. “I mean, if you’re not worried about the four-hour deadline before needing to seek medical attention.”

“Well lucky for you,” House started, shoving himself to his feet. “I happen to be a doctor.”

And of course, later when House shook a bottle of water at Wilson, the younger man had just laughed bright and loud. Jimmy had rolled his eyes, but still he took the bottle with a smile and took a swig before passing it back to House. It didn’t matter if it was _just_ water, because the trust was there. And that bolted into him, sunk down into the marrows of his bones in a heavy way. It made House want to fold the younger man into the cage of his chest, curl his ribs around the oncologist and keep Jimmy forever and a day. But _that_ was a ridiculous thought, one he couldn’t exactly mention to the younger man, so House kept it to himself. He did manage to snag a trial blister pack on his way out of the office though, dropping one of those little blue pills in a water bottle as House headed out to meet Jimmy at his stupidly sensible sedan.

“I’m thinking pizza,” Wilson finally said, as he turned the key in the car’s ignition before fishing his phone out of his pocket before squirming around to get his wallet. House waved him away.

“I know your card number, remember.”

Wilson gave him a slight smile, and House got to show off his wildly inappropriate, moderately impractical skill of being able to recite the oncologist’s credit card number as he ordered them a pizza. He’d gone light on the onions, forwent the anchovies entirely because he was hoping that a weekend free of Sam meant lazy make-out sessions on the couch before they retired to the bedroom. Sometimes optimism paid off, and House was choosing to be optimistic.

The delivery boy was standing idly outside their building, clutching the big, flat box against his chest. House tugged it free and jerked his thumb at Jimmy, hobbling into the apartment complex with his prize. He got to their door when he realized he didn’t have his key and had to wait, heaving out a groan and opening the box to steal a piece. It was a precarious balancing situation, the pizza box wedged between the wall and his stomach as House scarfed down his slice, ignoring the sharp edge of the cardboard digging into his flesh. But it was a hurried consumption of carbs to keep his strength up, not a first date, so the hot cheese scalding his mouth was to be expected.

“Really,” Wilson huffed. “Couldn’t have waited?” He pulled the box free and handed over his keys, doing something complex to balance the box on one hand and get a slice without putting down his briefcase. The grease left Jimmy’s lips shiny, left House with the _need_ to lick that mouth clean. But Wilson just pushed past him, dropping the pizza box down on the island as he twisted around to retrieve beers from the fridge. And if Jimmy hadn’t already had his heart, that move would have been a pretty serious play for it. House ignored that swell of affection as he turned to the TV, clicking aimlessly through the hundreds of unnecessary channels.

“Monster trucks or Shark Week,” House asked, leaning against the island and snagging another piece of pizza as Jimmy opened his beer and slid it over.

“Mm,” Wilson hummed, opening his own beer and flipping the lid on the pizza box. He took his time in picking his next piece, as if taking stock of the density of the toppings and ruling out pieces based on that. Or the char on the crust. Or the gooeyness of the cheese. Something infuriatingly endearing, House was sure. “Shark Week.”

Which how was he supposed to say no to Jimmy, truly. So, there they were, slumped down on the sofa, still mostly dressed, with a pizza box balanced between them. House had to hide his smile behind a big bite of pizza as Wilson railed on about human stupidity and natural selection and temping fate as a surfer recounted his story about wading out into waters were a great white had been spotted. And it was by far the best night he’d had in a long time. Definitely the best night he’d had since entering into that whole clusterfuck of emotion and sex tangled between him and Jimmy and Sam. A mostly empty six pack sat on the floor between them, and Wilson’s tie had long since been abandoned, his topmost buttons undone. And it was grossly domestic, because how could a shared pizza and cold beer and basic human stupidity be a bonding experience. But there it was, filling all the cracks in his chest, all those empty spaces that he was made of like fucking cement. Because that domesticity, that affection was so heavy, pulling him under.

It turned out there were only a handful of episodes that Wilson could watch, his nose scrunching up in displeasure as he pushed on House’s shoulder. The younger man tipped his face against House’s neck, folding in tight against his back, and House could _feel_ the crease of his forehead. Not that Jimmy was particularly squeamish, but there was something to be said for watching a shark tear gaping holes in a dead whale. “This is disgusting,” Wilson breathed out, breath hot and huffing through the thin fabric of House’s shirt. “Okay. That’s enough of that,” Jimmy grumped as he reached around to snag the remote from where it was tucked in against House’s hip. “Anything except,” the younger man made a gesture, “this.”

House laughed, let himself lean back into the curve of Jimmy’s body. “So, what. You’re wanting to cuddle in bed instead?”

Jimmy pinched at his side, working his way up over House’s ribs. “Like being in bed with me is such a crime against humanity.” The younger man tipped his head down to bite at House’s shoulder. “Sounds like an absolute _terrible_ way to spend the evening.”

“Okay,” House grumbled, sliding off the couch and giving Wilson a look. “But only on the condition that you take your pants off.” Wilson rolled his eyes, scoffing out an amused sound as he pushed himself upward off the sofa and headed for the bedroom. Because any night spent with a pantless Jimmy was a night well spent. Which was how House found himself, propped against the door to his room as he watched the oncologist undo the buttons of his shirt, of his pants as Wilson stripped down to his boxers and his undershirt. That hungry, possessive thing unfurled in his chest as he watched Jimmy crawl onto the bed and as Wilson settled back on the pillows and smiled at him. And House couldn’t breathe, as he scrambled to strip down to his underclothes and crawl into bed with Wilson.

As they settled in bed, Wilson draped himself along House. And House was helpless but to run his fingers aimlessly over Wilson’s calf where it was thrown across his hip, up toward Wilson’s knee. As he usually did, House reveled in the contrast just beneath his fingertips. Because Jimmy’s skin was soft, supple in a way that hinted at an expensive moisturizer with a foreign name. And it was so _different_ than the hard planes of muscle just underneath that pampered dermis, even more different than the coarse, dark hairs along Jimmy’s leg that House couldn’t stop pulling his fingers through.

“How do you feel about wax,” House quipped, trying not to think about Wilson with long, smooth legs wrapped around him. Because dammit, Jimmy really did have the gams for one of Sam’s skirts. He drew his fingers up over the ridge of Wilson’s knee, studiously cataloguing the ridge of cartilage, the shift of muscle and skin.

“I’m not waxing my legs,” Wilson huffed out, managing to get his elbows under him and prop himself up. He gave House a pointed look before collapsing back into the messed-up bedclothes. House ran his fingers up Jimmy’s thigh, teasing at the hem of the younger man’s boxers. And really, it was unfair how spectacular Wilson looked in House’s bed, regardless of his level of undress. Because there the oncologist was, work worn and filled with greasy pizza and so fucking _perfect_.

“You’re not curious,” House goaded, scratching his nails down along Wilson’s thigh and leaving narrow, white lines in his wake.

Wilson huffed out an amused look. “Your amusement isn’t worth it for when I have to explain it away.” Jimmy’s hand smoothed up his side softly. “Can you imagine?”

“We could put money on it,” he continued, flopping back into the pillows to look over at the younger man. And it was so cloyingly domestic, making House’s heart cinch up sharply in his chest as he looked at Jimmy, and Jimmy smiled back softly at him. House drew his fingers along Wilson’s thigh, tracing patterns along the skin there aimlessly. “Tell people you lost a bet.”

Jimmy’s mouth split open in a grin, showing the edges of his teeth and crinkling his eyes. “I’m not a big fan of ingrown hairs, Greg.”

And House couldn’t help himself, watching in wonder as his hand reached out and knotted in the worn-soft fabric of Wilson’s shirt and _tugging_ until the younger man was within kissing distance. He could _taste_ that smile against his lips, and House couldn’t help but lick up into the younger man’s mouth. And the angle was too sharp for it, too _wrong_ for them to kiss properly until Jimmy shifted up on his knees, shuffled his way over to House and pressed him down into the mattress with a kiss. It was heated and needy and absolutely _pointless,_ as if kissing was an end in itself, as Jimmy’s mouth slotted to his. Those deft fingers pushed through his hair, nails scraping delightedly at his scalp as Wilson’s tongue traced the edges of his teeth, tickled at his hard palate, slid alongside his own tongue. House groaned, running a hand up under the younger man’s tee and along the furrows of his ribs. His fingers hooked into the slats of bone, tugging until Jimmy pressed down on him, the younger man moving to straddle his waist and kiss him deeper. House pushed both hands up along the flat plane of Wilson’s back, his nails scraping lightly at the delicate skin there as he tipped his head up in encouragement. Jimmy’s arms bent, his forearms bracketing House’s head as if he could crawl into House’s mouth.

They broke apart, panting damply against one another’s lips as they peered heatedly at each other. And that close, the golden flecks in Jimmy’s dark irises were molten, searing into him as Wilson stared down at him. House tipped his head up, brushing his nose along the younger man’s and earning him a blinding smile, a gentle nip to his bottom lip for his trouble. Huffing out a laugh, House pushed a hand through Wilson’s hair and tugged. And Jimmy went willingly, dipping down to press surprisingly tender kisses to his lips, sighing into his mouth as House’s palms slipped along his back. His fingertips drew aimless patterns along Wilson’s skin, tracing the line of his boxers’ waistband before pushing up along Wilson’s lower back, drawing his nails lightly over the stretched thin skin. He could feel the younger man’s smile against his mouth. House smoothed his palms up along the broad expanse of Wilson’s back, humming softly as Wilson sat up, his hands resting on House’s chest. Jimmy’s cheeks were flushed pink as he smiled down at House. And that smile was so fond it _hurt_ , squeezing at House’s heart in the absolute best way. He pulled his hands down around to curl around Wilson’s hips.

“And you called _me_ a teenager,” House huffed out. Which earned him the younger man tipping down to press tenderhearted kisses against his mouth, nipping at his lip before slipping along his jaw.

Wilson exhaled hotly against that sensitive spot under his ear, nipping at his earlobe sharply. And his breath was soft and breathy against the whorls of delicate cartilage. “Making out is an _art_. I don’t have to get you naked to enjoy myself. Or to enjoy you for that matter.”

House scoffed, tugging at Wilson’s hips until the younger man moved to cage him in with hands and knees. And House immediately missed the heavy weight of Jimmy against his hips. He tangled his fingers in the oncologist’s shirt, fiddling with the fabric before tipping his head up to stare at Wilson. Those dark eyes stared hotly down at him, something wolfish and predatory there as House licked at his bottom lip in thought. “I mean. I like making out as much as the next person, but there’s something to be said for a good fucking.” He rolled his hips up into Jimmy, and he had to admit that the way the soft fabric crushed against him complimented the feeling of Wilson’s erection grinding against his.

“So long as I’m the one doing all the work,” Wilson grumbled, dipping down to press his mouth against his throat. And House felt those words just as much as he heard them. Not that it mattered as Jimmy’s teeth pulled along his pulse, soothing the ache with wet, sucking kisses. “Lazy,” he teased.

“Energy efficient,” House countered, pushing his hands up under Wilson’s shirt and shoving the offending fabric up around the younger man’s chest needing to feel all of Jimmy pressing down on him.

Jimmy laughed softly, raising up on his knees to strip off the undershirt. And House’s mouth went dry, his palms pushing up over Wilson’s belly, along his ribs and toward his chest. He pulled his nails down the younger man’s back, earning him a soft purr of approval as Wilson arched into it. House wanted to touch as much of the younger man as he could, smoothing his palms up along that sting. Again, Jimmy laughed at him before leaning down, his body folding to press hotly against House’s. House hummed appreciatively, his hands slipping around to Wilson’s back, his nails pulling lazily along the thin skin as the oncologist pinned him to the mattress. Wilson’s forearms rested on either side of his head as the younger man tipped his mouth back to House’s. Teeth scraped brightly at his lower lip, nipping at the flesh before rolling it into a hot mouth for a heady suck that had House’s hands digging down into Jimmy’s ass and pulling as his hips rocked upward. Because while there was clearly no intention in those kisses _aside_ from kissing, there was still that simmering arousal in his lower stomach, pulling his blood downward as if his cock was a magnetic field that the iron in his blood was unable to ignore. Wilson’s weight pressed against him roughly as his tongue pushed into House’s mouth. House groaned, digging fingers into that heavy, dark hair and pulling as his tongue slid along Jimmy’s. And Wilson went willingly, their teeth clicking in their enthusiasm. A broad palm cupped his jaw, tilting House’s head just enough for the younger man to deepen the kiss as his hips ground teasingly against House’s. And when Jimmy broke the kiss, House couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

“Is this all part of reliving our youth,” he gasped out, raking his fingers through Wilson’s hair as the younger man’s hips rolled forward with more intent, something dark and hungry in the motion.

“Making out, yes.” Wilson nipped at his jaw. “I can forgo the whole dry humping part if you’d prefer.” And just to be an asshole, his body arched, pulling that steady pressure away from House’s hips.

“Uh no,” House scoffed, his fingers curling tightly on the younger man’s to pull him back into place. Wilson’s hips slotted against his, rocking heavily. House’s hands drifted down to the swell of that perfect ass, squeezing and pulling the younger man in closer with a moan. “That’s the best part, obviously.”

“Obviously,” the oncologist mocked softly, bearing down into the vee of House’s leg before tipping to the side with a sigh. House twisted his head to look at Jimmy. And he hated how soft the younger man looked, there in his bed with his hair pulled into disarray and his skin flushed. Wilson’s hand glanced along his chest, his belly, ghosted along his clothed dick before the oncologist pulled his hand back in and somehow pulling House with him.

“I feel like there’s too much space between us for the whole grinding thing.” He gestured at the scant inches between them as House rolled onto his side and slipped closer, hating how easily they slotted together. It was instinctual for his wrecked thigh to slip over Jimmy’s hip while Wilson’s leg pressed between his. And the teasing pressure of the younger man’s thigh swirled want in his guts. He ground down against that hard line of bone and muscle as he leaned forward, his mouth seeking Wilson’s. House groaned, his fingers digging down into the swell of Jimmy’s lower back as he pulled the younger man closer. The lazy push-pull of their hips together stroked that hungry, affectionate feeling coiled behind his breastbone into an inferno in his chest as their mouths crushed open against one another. Wilson’s fingers curled around his hip, tugging House forward more firmly. And Christ it was good, as he groaned low in his chest and House’s hips rolled into that filthy grind. It really wasn’t fair how Jimmy worked him up, how the younger man knew the right amount of pressure to twist that arousal low in his guts because Wilson’s thigh had slotted up incessantly and House couldn’t help but grind down. Their foreheads pressed together as they shared breath, hot and damp and panting against each other’s lips.

“Christ,” he panted, his fingers hooking into the hard line of Wilson’s shoulder, nails digging into the flesh there as his hips jerked forward. Wilson just tipped his head, sucking and biting at the line of House’s throat as his hand spread along the swell of House’s ass, tugging him forward more firmly. The younger man held him in place as their hips ground against one another. And the feeling of Jimmy’s hard cock against his, barely separated by thin fabric, was almost too much. House tipped his head back with a soft whine. His fingers slipped up into Wilson’s hair, curling and pulling the younger man’s mouth impossibly closer to his neck as the oncologist’s lips and tongue burned their way down his flesh. Jimmy’s hand had slipped down, strong fingers digging into the seam where his ass became thigh and holding him in place as the younger man did something obscene with his hips.

“As fun as this is,” Wilson groaned against his throat, nipping at his skin sharply. “It’s been a while since I’ve cum in my boxers, and surprisingly I’m not really looking forward to that.” The younger man huffed a laugh, low and dirty, against House’s pulse point before biting roughly. “I know I promised dry humping but I wanna feel you Greg.”

“Fuck.” And the word was punched out of him as House scrabbled at the elastic of Wilson’s boxers. “Fuck yes, that,” House gasped out, managing to get the younger man’s boxers down about an inch before the fabric bunched against House’s thigh. Jimmy’s hand curled around his wrist, tugging his hand away from the offending garment. Wilson tipped his head down and pressed a surprisingly unhurried kiss to House’s lips, something way too tender for what the younger man had promised him. Because Jimmy had promised him the filthy, precum-slick grind of their lengths together as they ground toward completion. Not some . . . lingering kisses and languid roll of their hips. Not that House was _complaining,_ just it wasn’t what he had expected. But needing something to do with his hands, he managed to worm his way out of his shirt without assaulting Wilson. He leaned back in and crushed his mouth against Jimmy’s, licking past those pretty lips as he pressed his chest against the oncologist’s. House could feel the soft rumble of pleasure trapped there, rattling behind Jimmy’s ribs as he pressed closer. And the rasp of skin on skin was delightful as House clutched at Wilson’s back and leaned into that sensation.

Which seemed to prove itself as the straw that broke Wilson’s back as he tugged House’s boxers down just enough for his erection to bob free. The rough scrape of elastic down over the sensitive skin of his dick had him hissing as House bit roughly at Jimmy’s neck. His hips jerked forward, his cock slipping over the jut of Wilson’s hip in a damp smear of precum as he whined impatiently, and House’s fingers once more reaching for the younger man’s boxers. But Jimmy beat him to it, tugging his boxers free and the sensation of Wilson’s pretty dick grinding lazily against his snatched the breath from where it had knotted wetly under his ribs. Jimmy’s hand was back on his ass, fingers digging down into the meat of the cheek and dragging him forward. The groan punched out of him as House ground forward, his nails pulling over the ridge of the younger man’s shoulder blade, digging in between the slats of ribs. Some desperate, needy noise breathed out between them, oozing out from where their mouths had crushed together. And the slick, messy slide of precum against his groin, his stomach was way hotter than House cared to admit. Because Jimmy had been made for that kind of thing, for rutting against him roughly while he panted and whined into House’s mouth.

Jimmy’s fingers dug down into his ass cheek, slipping down to grasp at his thigh and pull him closer, crushing their hips together and rocking. House clutched at the younger man’s back, trying to press impossibly closer into the hot, slick grind of Wilson’s legs. Jimmy slipped his thigh up more firmly between his thighs, the muscles flexing and providing more purchase for House to grind against. The slick, velvet-steel slide of House’s length along that solid pad of muscle, up into the crease of Jimmy’s groin was almost unbearably perfect, pulling his hips forward roughly. House grunted against the younger man’s mouth, pressing their lips together messily in his desperation. And he _certainly_ didn’t remember his high school experiences being that fucking good as he and Jimmy moved together. Or maybe Wilson just went to a different level of high school and had apparently started out fooling around on an undergrad level. His hips jerked forward, grinding into the push of Jimmy’s hips, the younger man’s length sliding against House’s wetly. The slick feeling of Wilson’s precum-slick erection grinding against his dug down into his guts and pulled, yanking viscerally.

House panted against Jimmy’s lips, his hips stuttering forward into the bend of the younger man’s body. Wilson bit at his bottom lip, licking up into House’s mouth as the oncologist pressed back against him, hips rolling restlessly against House’s. A whimper bubbled up in House’s chest, leaking into Wilson’s mouth as the younger man pressed impossibly close and kissed him aggressively. Jimmy leaned against him from shoulder to knee, his hips rolling up into House’s as the younger man bit at his lip and his tongue fucked into House’s mouth. And the heat of Wilson’s palm curling around his hip, pulling him forward roughly bolted down into him hotly, splitting his chest and catching at his lungs. He tried to spread his legs further, to spread along Jimmy’s hips as House rocked and ground against Wilson’s precum-slick length.

The elastic around his thighs was a little uncomfortable, cutting at his need to cum but thankfully the fabric had enough give to let Jimmy as close as he could get. But it wasn’t enough, or maybe House was just greedy, because he wanted more. He wanted the younger man closer; he wanted that hot, slick slide and Jimmy’s skin plastered to his and pleasure burning through him. He _wanted_. House’s fingers slipped downward, digging into Wilson’s lower back as he jerked forward more aggressively, grunting at the feeling because his orgasm was elusive, wound around his pelvic girdle and stuck there. Some impatient noise dragged itself out of his throat, swallowed down by Wilson as the younger man crowded up against him, pressing him back into the mattress. And _oh_ that was better, as Jimmy pressed his thigh more firmly into the vee of House’s legs, straddling House’s thigh and tugging his hip upward to better grind down in a way a good Jewish boy shouldn’t know. House _definitely_ wasn’t complaining though, as the younger man fucked his hips down, rolling and grinding. His head fell back helpless as House whimpered, his nails digging hard into the swell of Wilson’s ass and pulling, encouraging the younger man harder, faster, rougher. With a pant, Jimmy tipped forward, his forearms bracketing House’s head as the younger man pressed down into him more firmly. Which would have been enough on its own, but then Wilson’s teeth closed around his collarbone, the pain of it bright as Jimmy sucked a hickey into his skin as he rutted them together.

That sensation of Wilson sucking a mark of ownership down into his skin was possessive and visceral and absolutely fucking _perfect_ , punching into him in a way that kept House from sucking in a deep enough breath as his orgasm rolled through his sensory system like lava. His hips jerked up into Wilson’s with a whimper, his leg slipping behind Jimmy’s thigh and pulling the younger man closer as House’s dick slid damply along Wilson’s thigh. House’s breath choked out of him, cinching his chest up tight as he fucked up against Jimmy’s leg, his cock pushing up along Jimmy’s silkily. And _Christ_ that was perfect, their dicks slipping precum-slick against one another as their erections ground together. House’s orgasm felt like it was sluggishly pumping through his veins, thick and chunky and collecting in his joints until it felt like he would explode. He felt his cock jump with the first jerk of cum striping out of him, driving House’s erection up into the crease of Jimmy’s groin and grinding, twisting and crushing his orgasm out of him as Wilson pulled him closer, nails digging into the flesh of House’s ass. House gasped and grunted, his hips grinding up into the crease of Jimmy’s groin as he continued cumming. The feel of his dick sliding and smearing his spend along Jimmy’s skin was unfairly hot, making him grunt and pant, his mouth busted open against Wilson’s skin as his hips jerked forward aimlessly. He grasped harder at the younger man’s frame, his hips jerking forward incessantly with want, his length slipping through the cooling mess of his cum in a way that snatched at his breath because _Jesus_ was it good.

And the feel of Wilson moving over him, pressing him down into the mattress as the younger man’s hips jerked forward, spreading his cum between their skins was apparently what House had always wanted without know it. Because the feeling of Jimmy’s perfect dick slipping effortlessly through his mess, smearing it against House’s stomach as the younger man gasped and panted and moaned against his throat was like a fucking fantasy come to life. He dug his nails down into Jimmy’s ass, his hips jerking upward as Wilson pressed him down harder, grinding as he came with a yanked-out gasp of breath against House’s throat. And it was a bit too much, as the younger man continued to lazily rut against him as if determined to pull out every last second of House’s pleasure, but it was so _good._ Soft kisses pressed along the line of House’s throat as the younger man panted against his skin, Wilson’s chest heaving against his. He could feel the heavy pound of the other doctor’s heartbeat. He could feel the furrow of Wilson’s grimace against his neck.

“So, we should probably clean up,” Wilson muttered, nipping at his throat and showing no inclination to move from where he was plastered bonelessly over House’s frame. And admittedly, the cooling sweat and congealing cum between them was gross and would probably stick them together sooner rather than later. But House couldn’t help himself from relaxing into the heavy press of Jimmy’s body against his. He smoothed his hands along the younger man’s back.

“Yeah, you made a mess.”

“I did all the work,” Jimmy huffed affectionately against his throat before rolling onto his back. House could see his grimace, the aggressive downturn of his lips as the younger man did some shimmying thing to wiggle out of his boxers. And the thin cotton wasn’t super effectual at cleaning up the mess, as Wilson pulled the fabric along his groin and lower stomach. “God, it’s like high school all over again,” he groaned, pulling his boxers more firmly along his skin before turning to House.

“Lots of boys in young Jim’s bed,” House teased as the younger man tugged his boxers down more roughly than necessary and went about cleaning up the mess on House’s skin.

“Not nearly enough for you to think about it.”

House laughed, relaxing back against the pillows as Wilson pulled fabric over still sensitive bits more gently than he was expecting. He watched as the younger man tossed their boxers toward the hamper, dipping down to kiss softly at House’s mouth before slumping languidly into the messy sheets. “Oh, there feels like a story there. The tennis team wasn’t it,” he teased, but that idea unfairly pushed jealousy into him. Because that had been more than half of Jimmy’s lifetime ago. But he’d seen Wilson as a young man, had met a slightly aged version of him in a blue-smoke bar in Louisiana. It wasn’t impossible to think that Jimmy had been breaking hearts his entire life.

“I can’t help it that I was popular,” Wilson quipped, flopping gracelessly over on his side to tip that lazy, crooked smile up at House. The one that always did funny things to his stomach.

“That’s a funny way of saying slutty.”

Jimmy pinched at his side as he tried to smooth out the lines of amusement around his lips, his eyes. The younger man failed pretty heavily as he folded in along the line of House’s side “They’re synonyms, didn’t you know that.”

He scoffed, turning onto his left side to regard Wilson. And there was that hazy, warm feeling of affection pooling in the hollow below his sternum, aborting the flex of his diaphragm as Jimmy’s legs tangled with his. The soft evening light lost itself in Wilson’s hair, dusting his cheeks in a way that made House want to kiss him. He was already leaning forward because his heart had decided House _could_ kiss Jimmy well before his mind had made that decision. It wasn’t much of a kiss, just a brush of lips, but still it lit him up like some asshole had set off fireworks in his chest. And those three little, _monstrously huge,_ words bloomed behind his breastbone, but he substituted them. “How fortunate for me.”

Wilson rolled his whole damn face, but there was that fond amusement hedging in at the corners of his eyes. “You’re such a brat.” The younger man’s shoulders relaxed.

“A brat who got you a long weekend.”

“A completely selfless deed, I’m sure,” Jimmy scoffed as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Because you _definitely_ don’t get anything out of a long weekend spent in bed with me.”

“ _You_ were the one who mentioned the Viagra in the water trick,” House reminded him, flopping onto his back to leer up at Wilson. The younger man laughed breathily at him before rolling out of bed. House folded his hands behind his head, calling “While the cat’s away, Jimmy” as he watched Wilson leave the room. It would be easy to believe that was his life, to expect Jimmy in his bed but House had a sinking suspicion that Sam would be back on Sunday and back to bullying her way into Wilson’s bed. And if he had expected some water with Viagra crushed up in it as the younger man returned to the bedroom, House was sorely mistaken as Wilson tossed a bottle of scotch at him before climbing back on the bed with two beers clutched to his chest. He passed over a beer, and House hurried to wiggle into a sitting position.

“Can we maybe _not_ talk about the cat while we’re in bed,” Wilson deadpanned as he wrenched the scotch open and took a sip, his nose scrunching up against the burn of it before the younger man held the bottle out to him.

It was oddly reminiscent of shitty high school parties, but with better booze because House didn’t have to bribe someone for watery beer and rotgut whiskey. Also, better because he had an unfairly attractive, definitely naked Jimmy in his bed. And _that_ made up for all those alcohol-fuzzy memories of bratty military kids. House took a deep swallow of that liquor to wash those thoughts away. Because sitting on his bed, knee knocking against Wilson’s, as they drank in companionable silence was nice. Better than he thought his life would ever get, especially after Stacy had left. And how funny was it that House had spent all those years trading pretty brunettes in like cheap Japanese cars in order to forget Wilson only to realize Jimmy was a classic, something throaty and powerful and desirable like that Corvette the mob had gifted him. But House hadn’t got to keep that fucking Corvette either. And House took an angry, overzealous swig of that sharp liquor before handing Wilson back the bottle.

With a huffed-out sigh, he threw himself back on the bed, determined not to think those thoughts anymore. House rolled his head in the pillows, watching as Wilson stretched over him to place the bottle on the bedside table. He smoothed his hand up along the oncologist’s bare side, feeling the muscles flutter at his touch. _God_ Wilson was pretty. Jimmy glanced down at him, confused but fond before the younger man folded himself down in the bed next to him. And House wanted so desperately to hate how right it felt as Wilson’s arm settled heavily across his chest, as Jimmy’s face tucked into the crook of his neck, as the younger man’s breathing evened out into a fucked-out lullaby of sleepy rasps.

He wanted to hate how greedy he was, because House planned on taking everything the universe and its fucked up God was willing to give him. He planned on keeping Jimmy as long as he could. House tipped his face into Wilson’s dark hair. He breathed in the soft scent of the younger man as he closed his eyes, wondering how many deals with the Devil he’d have to make before he got to keep Wilson.

And in the morning, the bed was empty. The soft rumble of the washer filtered into the quiet as House stumbled into the kitchen. There was a note by the coffeepot about running errands, just another token of cloying domesticity. He fixed himself a cup of coffee and made an attempt at flipping through the newspaper. House did the dishes. And plunked out a halfhearted melody on that organ. And drank some of Sam’s grapefruit juice directly out of the carton. And folded the towels in the dryer. But mostly, House puttered aimlessly around their apartment, waiting for the younger man to come home. He watched the clock far closer than he would ever admit to before he finally threw himself down on the sofa and tried to find something on TV.

The jangle of keys in the lock pulled him awake, not that House would ever admit to dozing off on the couch. Wilson was singing softly to himself as he pushed into the apartment. House pushed himself up into a sitting position, blinking rapidly to encourage himself to wake up. The two bags that Jimmy had balanced in the crook of his right arm and the one he clutched in his left hand definitely seemed like Wilson had overthought the whole grocery shopping thing, letting his perfectionism get the better of him. Because three bags of groceries definitely didn’t warrant the younger man being missing for the majority of the day.

“I figured I could make us a late lunch,” Wilson called from the kitchen. And House glanced at the clock.

“Not sure four counts as lunch anymore,” he snipped. “Pretty sure this is old-people dinner.”

Wilson snorted as he rifled through the bags, putting the groceries away methodically. Milk, juice, vegetables, something wrapped in butcher paper. The younger man must have plans if he’d waited in line at the deli, because Wilson only went to that little kosher shop on Pelham. Which never really made sense to House, given that Jimmy was probably the least Jewish Jew he’d ever met.

“You talk to your mom,” he asked, his brow furrowing as he turned his attention back to the show he’d been watching, only to see that the Spanish soap opera had shifted into some kind of game show. And he wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, but there seemed like there was a chicken involved. But he kind of wanted to see how it panned out.

“No.” Jimmy’s tone was high, a little sharply edged as he slammed the fridge closed. House scoffed, because Wilson only went to that kosher deli when he received a call from Margot Wilson, and she reminded him to feel guilty for eating pork and to chastise for him not going to temple and to exasperatedly tell him to call his brother. There was the unmistakable sound of a wine bottle’s cork pulling free, and House glanced over the back of the couch at the younger man.

“Mm, real believable,” House teased as he watched Jimmy pour himself a generous glass of wine.

Jimmy pointed the wine bottle at him. “I’m an adult, and it’s past noon. I can have a drink.”

House smiled to himself as he settled back into the sofa. And he’d missed what had happened with the chicken, and he huffed out a sigh. He had been really curious about what role live poultry played on a game show. “Aren’t you supposed to offer to pour for your company first?”

“House,” Wilson huffed. “You _live_ here. We’re a little past the _company_ stage.” A moment of silence ticked past before the younger man spoke again. “Did you want a glass?” Wilson’s voice lilted upward in question. “It’s that nice Malbec from the fridge.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” House called as he shoved himself up off the sofa and limped into the kitchen. He leaned against the island, his fingers toying with the base of the wineglass the oncologist had so graciously poured him. Already a pot of water was on the stove, and his interest was piqued. Because Wilson was the middle son, the one who strove continuously to stand out when it came to an older brother who happened to be a successful accountant and mentally unhinged, missing younger brother. And House knew from experience that that meant Jimmy had spent more time with the strong female figures in his family, doing things like learning Bubbie Wilson’s recipes instead of doing something more gender typical like _sports_.

He craned his neck to see. “Gnocchi,” he asked, watching as the younger man picked through House’s kitchen for the appropriate tools. Wilson just hummed as he put the potato masher down on the counter and began gathering ingredients for a cream sauce. And while House had taken to cooking more often than the oncologist, there was still something about watching Jimmy cook for him.

Silence descended around them, broken by the rock of a knife blade against a cutting board as the younger man went about making dinner.

“So, this Viagra in the water thing,” Jimmy started casually, and also not casually because House could hear the breathy lilt in his tone. House leaned against the island, sipping that nice Malbec and watching as Wilson rolled out gnocchi dough with his palms. He could see the younger man’s forearms flexing, his cuffed sleeves shifting along his skin, and he hurried to take another healthy sip. The dark fruity taste steeped down into his tongue, the smoky aftertaste leaving his mouth dry.

“Mm,” he hummed noncommittally, peering over Wilson’s shoulder at the cream sauce simmering on the stove. The kitchen smelled good, and House was suitably impressed. Bubbie Wilson had apparently passed on a rich recipe from the Old Country and Jimmy was apparently capable of doing her proud. “That sounds like curiosity Jimmy,” House teased as the silence pulled long and languid between them as Wilson cut the dough, tossing the dumplings into butter with garlic and thyme, spooning it up over them. He hated how perfect they looked because his gnocchi always came out a little lumpy. 

“I just,” Wilson started with a sigh, his shoulders slumping with the exhale before reaching for his wineglass. House watched that deep red brush against the younger man’s lips, staining the glass before slipping away. He wanted to chase after that dry wine with his tongue, lick it from where it stained Jimmy’s mouth. House pushed that thought away. “I thought I could return the favor or something.” And Jimmy was _almost_ believable, as he focused on browning his gnocchi. “You know. You tie me to the bed then I tie you to the bed,” the younger man said as he flicked the potato dumplings into the cream sauce. “Something like that.”

House’s stomach clenched right before it swooped into freefall. Because tying Jimmy to the bed had been, by far, the best fucking experience of the whole ketamine thing. Okay, those scant days had been explosive in their own rights, but the _bed_ definitely had a special place in House’s heart. He swallowed hard and took another sip of his wine. And while he certainly didn’t know if he would want to be tied to the bed, House was all for letting the oncologist play around. He tried to take a grounding breath, but he was still standing in the kitchen with his dick twitching to life.

“Do you think two or three hours is enough to satisfy your questions?” And already arousal was punching holes into him, boiling down hard into him because the thought of getting off at least a few times while Jimmy wound him up was unfairly hot.

Wilson took a sip of his wine as he focused on folding the gnocchi into the cream sauce. “I think the better question would be how many times do you think I can get you to cum before it wears off.”

His dick definitely twitched at that. Because _that_ was a good question, and House’s mind raced with it because on the _best_ day with the _perfect_ stimulation, given his age and his diet, he could get hard again somewhere around four hours after getting off. Which was pretty good for being just over fifty. But then again, House was also currently falling into bed with a younger man who regularly went for runs, and fed them pretty healthily, and managed to curb their alcohol intake, and who had before proven himself capable of getting aroused again somewhere close to the one hour mark. But Viagra had done remarkable things for him the last time, hadn’t it, cutting his refractory period down almost two-thirds. He drained his wine and left the glass on the island, watching the spider of maroon liquid pool right above the stem’s join. No more alcohol for him, not if Jimmy was wanting to fool around.

“Depends on the dosage I guess,” House joked, because the drug reps only gave out sample packs of twenty-five milligrams, which was more than enough to see a suitable change in sexual activity but not enough for every man who asked for it to be chomping to pay the copay for it. Jimmy hummed as he grated parmesan over the dish, folding the cheese in as he shrugged his shoulders as if in thought.

“Mm, well.” Wilson paused to finish his wine, settling the glass down near the backsplash. “I crushed one hundred milligrams in your wine before you came in here.” House was caught off guard in the best possible way, because normally it was the other way around with _him_ drugging _Jimmy_. Heat settled in his stomach and leeched outward as Wilson tossed him a smug smirk over his shoulder. “I thought we could have dinner and then head to bed?” And _that_ was a loaded question wasn’t it, because Jimmy could have _anything_ in mind. But there was that heady anticipation coiling down low in his hips, making his cock twitch as he leaned more heavily on the island. His dick was definitely getting hard, aching lowly in his jeans as he watched Wilson move casually around the kitchen.

“We could go now,” he breathed out, sounding way more eager than he had intended, but House was _definitely_ all for forgoing their almost dinner and heading straight to bed. Bubbie Wilson’s fucking fantastic gnocchi be damned, because he wanted whatever the oncologist had in mind. Was _gagging_ for it. But there was Jimmy getting down bowls, leaning up just barely on his tiptoes in a way that pushed his ass out delightfully when there was no reason for it other than to fucking _tease_ House.

“I think you’ll need the carbs.” And that _definitely_ punched down into him, spreading heat as if those words were a tangible promise as Wilson deposited a bowl of pasta in front of him with a smirk, stabbing a fork down into the creamy mess.

While the food was good, House was certainly beyond his manners as he crammed it in his mouth, and Wilson was taking his time. House watched as the fork smeared a bit of cream sauce on those pretty lips, a pink tongue dipping out to lick it away. He swallowed down the groan with his mouthful of gnocchi because Wilson was a _fucking tease._ And it felt like a race to see if House could finish his bowl before his dick was completely hard as arousal bolted into him aggressively. House tried to do the math, to see how much longer he had until he felt the full effects of the Viagra in his bloodstream as he tried to readjust himself in his jeans as nonchalantly as possible. His dick twitched against that touch, and he ground his teeth together.

“It doesn’t take you this long to eat,” he gritted out, glaring at Jimmy as the younger man smirked, pushing another creamy gnocchi past his teeth.

“Were you waiting for something?”

House sucked in a deep breath and gave the younger man a pointed look. “I’m going to bed.” He put his bowl in the sink, running water into it. “I’m going to strip down naked. And I’m going to touch myself.” He glanced over at Wilson, feeling a bit smug as the oncologist’s eyes darkened. “When you’re ready to join me, feel free.” And if the younger man had anything to say about that, House ignored it as he headed for his room.

He fished the bottle of lube out of the bedside table before pulling off his shirt. House sat heavily on the edge of the bed as he undid his jeans and pushed them down, palming his cock through the soft fabric of his boxers. His breath hitched, his hips pushing up more firmly against that pressure. House scooted back on the bed, dropping his head back into the pillows as he tried to keep his thoughts straight while he counted the seconds until Jimmy made good on his promise.

As it was, he got to about fifteen before the aimless rubbing of his dick through his boxers shorted out his thoughts and he had to start over. His hips tipped up impatiently as arousal burned through him. The anticipate was almost as good, the way it coiled and knotted in his guts, tightening like some vise while he waited for the younger man. He pressed against his cock, some half-broken moan wheezing out of his chest as his hips rolled upward. He’d lost count again House realized with a groan, his chest heaving. And it wasn’t fair that he was that wound up just from the promise of Wilson’s heated words, like the oncologist had _plans_ to take House apart cell by cell. The younger man hadn’t even _touched_ him. He pushed at his boxers until the fabric slipped far enough down for his dick to spring free. House hissed as his fingers curled around the base, squeezing.

Knuckles rapped against his doorway, pulling House’s attention up. He squeezed his dick harder, feeling precum bead at the slit because _holy fuck_. Because Jimmy leaned against the door in only low-slung boxers, obviously tented and the fly dampened. Wilson had apparently thought it wise to strip down to his boxers in the short time it took to go from the kitchen to House’s door. And that thought traced along his nerves like electricity. He desperately wanted the hallway strewn with Jimmy’s clothes, just left behind him like some fucked up, unfairly sexy breadcrumb trail. House swallowed hard, watching as the younger man prowled further into the room, tossing the water bottle on the bed before his fingers smoothing along the sheets before he pulled himself up over the foot of the bed. Those deft hands curled around his ankles, and House automatically spread his legs as Wilson’s palms rasped up his shinbones, squeezing at his knees as the younger man crawled between his legs.

Fingers teased at the hem of his boxers, blunt nails scratching lightly at his thighs as Wilson leaned forward to nip at his collarbone. “I thought I was promised naked,” he teased as Jimmy tugged lightly at the boxers. House tried to choke out a laugh, but it didn’t work.

“I got distracted,” he breathed out, clenching his hand tighter around his cock because it really wouldn’t do for him to cum before they’d broken out the lube _at least_. The water bottle pressed coldly against his side, and House tossed it on the bedside table, worried that Wilson might have fallen out of the mood with that momentary distraction. But his breath withered up at the look the younger man was giving him, like House sprawled out on the bed with a hand wrapped tightly around the base of his dick and his boxers pulled down just enough was the best thing to come into existence since sliced bread.

Jimmy pulled his thumbpad up House’s length, his eyes were impossibly dark as they tracked the motion hungrily. And want corkscrewed down into the marrow of House’s bones. Some ages-old instinct clicked off his higher brain function as he pulled his palm up and down in a short stroke, the sharp burst of pleasure sending a dribble of precum down his cock. “Jimmy,” he breathed out, watching as Wilson swayed closer until those dark eyes pinned him in place. Then the younger man was kissing him hard, pressing House back against the headboard as a possessive tongue bullied its way into House’s mouth. He groaned, his hand lifting to grip at the younger man’s hair, tugging as his fingers twisted into it.

But then that mouth was drifting downward as Wilson laid sharp bites along his skin, soothing them with sucking kisses and burning licks of his tongue. House moaned and writhed in the sheets, squirming as the younger man drew his teeth down over a nipple and nails scraped against his hips. His hips jerked up with a whine, smearing his dick wetly against Jimmy’s chest as the younger man nipped and kissed his way down House’s body.

“Fuck,” he gasped out as Jimmy jerked his boxers down, doing some complicated thing to get House fully naked before the younger man settled back between his thighs. House dug his hands down into Jimmy’s hair, pulling sharply as his hips rolled upward. He tried to pull Wilson up for another heated kiss, only for Jimmy to fold between his legs as if in worship, his palms pressing House’s legs out to make room for his body. And House had to close his eyes because the sight of Jimmy there at the vee of his thighs had the potential to make him cum embarrassingly fast. Teeth scraped along his thigh before the bright hurt of a not-gentle bite against the thin inner skin. House groaned, his fingers tightening and pulling sharply in Jimmy’s hair, which only seemed to be incentive for the younger man to suck a hickey into that tender flesh. And House wanted to hate it, but the way his dick was twitching and drooling gave him away. “Please,” House breathed out, his hips rolling up in entreaty.

“Mm,” Jimmy hummed leaning forward to lick a broad stripe along the underside of House’s dick. The number of blowjobs House had received from Wilson, he could count on one hand – mostly because House’s leg normally couldn’t be bothered to hold his weight long enough for him to get off like that. But also, his affliction with Vicodin had made it hard for him to _perform_ sometimes, and no one wanted to spend that long on their knees sucking on a perfectly average cock unless they were being paid for it. House knew that, had learned that lesson the hard way. But the times Jimmy _had_ sucked him off had been spectacular, better than anything he had ever paid for. Admittedly though, things had come to light since the last time – namely House releasing he was _in love_ with the younger man – so House was a little unclear on if the level of amazingness had been due to the undercurrent of House’s feelings or actual technique.

And that thought _promptly_ disappeared from House’s skull as the tip of Jimmy’s tongue dipped past his pulled taunt foreskin to drag along his slit. Lips pressed against his glans like a kiss before those soft lips parted and slipped down, followed by the sharp edge of just barely scraping over the flared head as Jimmy’s tongue curved along the underside of his shaft. And the suction as Wilson dipped his head was on the best side of too much. Jimmy’s teeth had disappeared as he pulled his head back to suck hard on the tip before pulling off completely. A hot gust of breath tangled itself on spit-slick skin before Wilson’s tongue once more dipped against his slit before the flat of the muscle pushed roughly at the head before that hot mouth was bobbing down once more.

His head fell back against the pillows as House groaned, a low and dirty sound as the oncologist took him all the way down, House’s cock bumping into the back of Jimmy’s throat. And then the younger man _fucking hummed_ and the feeling of it rattled House all the way down to his bones. House’s hips jerked up into that vibration, his fingers tightening in Wilson’s hair. “Jimmy,” he panted out as those broad hands curled around his hips and pinned him to the mussed-up bedclothes.

Not too long ago, Bonnie had told him how good Jimmy was in bed, which House had already known that, but she had mentioned a singlemindedness to the oncologist when it came to taking care of his partners. And that little tidbit of insight had seemed like it might be a little different than the desperate crush of their bodies together House tended to experience whenever he fell into bed with the oncologist, as if they were rushing to see who could get off first. House had known that Wilson was good, had experienced it before, had enjoyed more than just a handful of mind-shattering orgasms. But that was apparently _worlds apart_ from what he was experiencing just then as the younger man pressed his hips down against the mattress and swallowed House’s length like he’d been _made_ for sucking House’s dick. Because there was something unerringly focused as the oncologist bobbed his head and sucked like he was trying to pull House’s brain out through the tip of his cock.

House fucking _whimpered_ as the oncologist did something so good with his tongue it should have been _illegal_. His hands knotted in that thick hair, tugging as his hips jerked up instinctively. And Jimmy just hummed, sucking harder as his hands slipped up his thighs, curled along House’s hips. He had the sudden, worrying understanding that it wasn’t going to take him long like that. House glanced down, watching the indecent slide of his dick past Jimmy’s pretty lips, stretched around him as the younger man bobbed his head slowly like Wilson had entered into some sort of blowjob related subspace. He could see the dribble of spit where it leaked from under the seal of Wilson’s lips, aiding the push-pull of his length up into that hot mouth. House groaned, tightening his hands in Jimmy’s hair as the oncologist’s thumbs drew small circles along the skin stretched thin over House’s hipbones.

“Christ,” he gasped out, hips lifting just to watch more of his cock press up into Wilson’s mouth. The younger man’s hands slipped back to squeeze at his ass, pulling House’s hips up with a hum. And the feeling of his length sliding into the tight clench of Jimmy’s throat, that tightness fluttering against his tip, choked his breath in House’s chest. His hips jerked up more firmly, fucking into that airway’s grasp as his orgasm cinched up hotly in his lower belly. “Jimmy,” House panted, his hips jerking up more roughly because he was coming apart at the seams, at the joints as he pulled at Jimmy’s hair. “Nnh,” he whined out as the younger man just hummed, swallowing around House’s length. And it tore his orgasm free of his hips, jerking him forward like a fucking live wire as he came. It was obscene, the feeling of Jimmy swallowing around him, sucking and bobbing and making a mess in general, prolonging House’s orgasm until it nearly _hurt._

Wheezing, he slumped back in the pillows as Wilson lifted off his twitching cock. The younger man kissed his way up House’s body, pressing their mouths together sloppily as Jimmy’s tongue pressed into his mouth. And House could taste himself there. Which should have been gross but was hot in a visceral way that punched into him and made him groan. He pressed closer, his tongue fucking into Wilson’s mouth as his hands curled sharply in the oncologist’s hair. And Wilson ground up against him roughly, slipping a leg between House’s and pressing up against his spent cock deliciously. And it wasn’t fair as the feeling of Jimmy’s hard cock still wrapped up neatly in his boxers pressed against the line of his thigh as the younger man ground against him and punched a new wave of want into him. House gasped, turning to kiss Wilson messily. There was the click of their teeth together as lips burst open at the pressure, tongues knotting wetly together as Jimmy pressed him back into the mattress. Broad hands slipped up along his thighs to curl sharply along his hips and tug. When Wilson moved, it took House a moment to realign himself because his thoughts were all wrapped up in the burning heat of Jimmy. House blinked blearily up at him in confusion, right up until he felt lube-slick fingers sliding along his inner thigh.

And House was still half-hard, his cock giving a weak twitch as he felt those fingers rub a teasing circle along his rim, nails just barely catching at the furl of muscle. He gasped, his fingers knotting hard against Wilson’s scalp as the younger man mouthed along his throat. House turned his face toward Jimmy’s, tugging the oncologist’s mouth to his hungrily. It was entirely too soon, his body too sensitive, as Wilson teased at breaching his rim. The feeling of a fingertip pressing into him punched a whimper out of him, which was embarrassing in itself but did serve to get the point across as Wilson’s hands skimmed up his sides and curled his hands around House’s hips.

Wilson kissed him roughly, his tongue slipping into House’s filthily as the younger man slotted their hips together and rolled. His cock was that tingly, blistering kind of sensitive and each grind of Wilson’s hips to his choked a soft whimper of noise from him. But House hung on, digging his hands into the space between the oncologist’s shoulder blades, his nails pressing to flesh as his hips rocked forward. Because it felt good in a shocking, sharply pointed way. The feeling of Jimmy’s hard length pressed up against him, softened by thin cotton barbed under his skin. Wilson’s teeth bit down into the junction of his shoulder, sucking at the ridge of his collarbone before he placed a surprisingly tender kiss against the pound of House’s pulse. His hand smoothed up House’s wrecked thigh, curled around his hip and tugged House right up against the younger man. He could feel the heave of Jimmy’s chest, the thump of his heartbeat as they pressed against one another. And there was nothing overtly sexual about the position, if the hard jut of Wilson’s dick against his hip could be overlooked, which was admittedly difficult to do as it was made all the more apparent with Jimmy’s thigh pressed between his legs. He whimpered as Jimmy traded lazy kisses with him, the younger man’s hips rocking aimlessly against his.

And time was fluid like that, as they traded lazy, sloppy kisses. Jimmy nipped at his bottom lip, rolling that flesh into his mouth and sucking before Wilson’s tongue bullied into House’s mouth. He’d looped an arm around the oncologist’s neck, holding the younger man close while his other hand dug into the muscle of Wilson’s shoulder. Not that Wilson seemed to mind, as he hummed appreciatively into House’s mouth and ground their hips together, as he licked past House’s teeth and dug fingertips into the small of House’s back to pull him closer. And leave it to James Wilson, or maybe a magic little blue pill, to apparently turn him into a horny teenager again because he was getting hard as they continued to move together. His breath was heaving out of his chest, and arousal was simmering hotly in his veins, burning along his deep muscles as he pressed against the oncologist more fervently. Their kisses became feral things with too many teeth, too much tongue and House needed _more_.

It was a bad idea, he _knew_ it was a bad idea, but House was admittedly curious. He pressed his forehead to Wilson’s, peered into those dark eyes and spoke his fate aloud. “Can I have some of that water?” There was a flicker of something bright and hungry in those cold espresso irises before Wilson twisted around to retrieve the water. And if House had expected it to taste like anything _but_ water, he was sorely mistaken. Because there was no sugar-coated or acrid-bitter taste of drugs, just the plain, boring taste of water. He gulped at it, thirstier than he’d expected, and he felt some of it dribble down his neck. Jimmy dipped his head, his tongue chasing after those runaway droplets before nipping and sucking along House’s skin. House tipped his head back with a groan.

Jimmy’s hand slipped along his hip, smearing lube on his skin as the younger man’s fingers curled around the base of House’s dick and squeezed. House’s hips jerked forward into the clench of the younger man’s hand. His mouth broke open in a gasp of hot air as he bit along the line of Wilson’s throat, his hips fucking forward lazily because the rasp of Jimmy’s palm against his erection was almost too much, even with the glide of lube, of precum. There was that bright burst of pleasure as Wilson stroked him roughly, tugging his foreskin down over the flared ridge of his glans and twisting. House seared his mouth to the crook of Jimmy’s neck as his hips rocked into that touch, panting as his hips pressed forward. Overstimulation barbed under his skin, hooking under his ribs and coiling down in his guts. It was that bright, hot flash of need, bordering on _too much_ as Wilson pulled him closer, trapping his dick up against the soft fabric of the younger man’s boxers, the hard line of Jimmy’s cock.

The angle was wrong, the crush of their bodies was too close as House rocked up into the clench of Wilson’s hand, grinding the tip of his cock wetly against the younger man’s lower stomach. The smear of his precum against Jimmy’s skin was unfairly hot, pulling his hips forward more heavily as Wilson’s palm twisted along his dick, stroking tight and rough against the head. House tipped his mouth to Jimmy’s, their mouths open and panting as their lips pressed messily together. Wilson nipped at his bottom lip as he pressed closer, stroked House more surely as Jimmy practically straddled his thigh, grinding his length down against the vee of House’s legs as he pulled his palm upward, wrist twisting. It choked a soft noise of want out of House, left him powerless but to gasp and pant, his hips fucking up against that touch as Jimmy’s mouth burned its way down his throat.

His orgasm cut into him, sharp and bright and sudden. It punched out of him, unraveling him at the edges as Wilson’s hand pulled along his length. It was too much and so fucking good as House’s hips jerked forward, pushing up more firmly into that touch. It felt a bit like an alarm was going off in his skull, something loud and incessant that lit up the pleasure centers of his brain like fireworks. And the dribble of cum from his dick was sluggish so soon after his first orgasm, as if Jimmy had to physically milk it out of him. Deft fingers pulled at him, squeezing and twisting as Wilson rocked his hips forward in time to that rhythm, biting at his skin and humming as House jerked up into that touch. His tip pressed messily through his spend where it had collected on the younger man’s stomach, and House groaned, pushing his hips forward harder so that his length pressed more firmly through that mess as he groaned. Because the feel of it was proprietary and dirty, like House had claimed Jimmy, had marked the younger man for his own. He ground his hips forward, crushing the last of his orgasm out into Jimmy’s skin.

House rested against Wilson’s chest, his lungs shuddering as House struggle to suck in a deep enough breath. His body felt fucked-out, wrung dry as Jimmy tipped his head down to press lazy kisses to House’s lips. Wilson’s hand pulled slowly along his back, smoothing down his spine as House tried to remember how to function. His thoughts were still a bit hazy, a little pleasure-drunk as he sighed into Jimmy’s mouth, kissing the younger man in only an approximation of the act because it was just lips pressed together as they breathed into each other’s mouths. The hard line of Wilson’s cock pressed against his hip sparked a hungry, but tired, feeling in his guts as the oncologist’s fingertips drew lazy patterns along the swell of his ass. He hummed, pressing his body more firmly against Wilson. It was definitely too much but House only sighed as Jimmy pressed lube-slick fingers along his cleft, dipping down to rub against his rim. And it was instinct really for his hips to jerk back into that touch, whimpering as he did so because his nerves felt raw, worn down into something brittle and sharp as that touch sparked brightly along his sensory system, pulled along by that tainted water and the feel of a fingertip slipping past that furl of muscle. Jimmy fucked that digit into him slowly, bending to nip along House’s throat. And he tipped his head back to offer up more skin for the oncologist to lay claim to. One finger became two fingers became three as House gasped and panted and writhed on the sweat-damp sheets, his hips jerking back into that touch.

“How do you want me to fuck you Greg,” the younger man asked him softly, his voice low and ragged as his hands spread on House’s hips. And _thank_ _Christ_ Jimmy had finally shucked off his boxers apparently, because House could feel that precum-slick length against his skin. It burned him brand-hot, teased him silky-soft, made his dick ache in sympathy because Jimmy hadn’t gotten off yet. He whimpered, his hips rolling forward to feel more of Wilson’s skin against him. House rolled over probably less gracefully than he would have liked, but two pretty spectacular orgasms had melted his brains out his fucking _ears_ and House was just running on those hindbrain instincts that kept him breathing, fucking, and surviving. His cock was tender as it rubbed against the covers, and the residual lube provided a brilliant glide as his weight pressed his hips into the mattress. His hips rutted lazily.

And then there were those fingers, pressing into him, urging him tighter against the covers. House moaned, spreading his legs as his hips slipped forward. He ground his hips down, pressing his dick hard into the covers and bemoaning the lack of substantial friction because the lube provided enough glide that his dick barely caught on those fibers. House ground his hips down against the blanket, the soft jersey sheets as his fingers curled in the bedclothes and he rutted a bit rougher before he pressed back into the spread of Wilson’s fingers. A third finger screwed in alongside the other two, fucking down into the clench of House’s rim. And _that_ was certainly a thing because his two previous orgasms had kind of melted his muscles at the same time that they had pulled his skin tight and sharp over his bones. His muscles fluttered against those fingers, clenching and relaxing as if his body couldn’t make up its mind to accept or reject that intrusion. The sensation of the younger man’s digits spreading against that clench was rough and dirty as they pressed in deep and crooked.

House gasped, his hips jerking back into that feeling because it was rushed and filthy as Jimmy’s chest pressed against his back and the younger man nipped at his shoulder, his neck. He pushed his hips back against Wilson, the hot line of the oncologist’s body seared against his. Jimmy’s hand slipped free from the clench of his body, curling stickily around House’s hip and tugging him back into the younger man’s frame. He groaned, bracing his forearms on the mattress for leverage to press back further into Jimmy, his hips rolling upward to feel the hot, precum-slick slide of the younger man’s dick against his thigh. House’s legs spread further with a whine as his hips tipped back into Wilson. His head fell forward, pressing against the bed as House huffed out a sound of entreaty. “Please,” he panted out, his hips rolling back into the line of the younger man’s frame. “Jimmy please,” House gasped out.

Jimmy huffed an amused sound out against House’s neck, his teeth pulling brightly along the pound of his pulse as Wilson’s hips dipped down and ground against House’s ass. And that feeling punched into him, burned lowly as his hips lifted up and Jimmy’s pretty dick slipped into the crease of House’s thighs, fucking forward slowly. “Oh,” the younger man breathed out, biting at his neck teasingly as Wilson’s hips rolled more firmly against his ass.

He'd gotten just enough of his mental facilities together to tell Wilson off when the younger man drew the tip of his erection up along the cleft of House’s ass teasingly. And whatever House had been planning on saying scuttled out of his ears as his head hung down low and he groaned, pressing back into the younger man. And it _burned_ as Jimmy pressed up against him, pushed into him. The feeling was tight, sharp as it combined with the overstimulation of his body, wrecking him surely as Wilson’s hips twisted and jerked, making a home for that pretty dick in House’s guts. His muscles clenched down as his fingers dug at the sheets, his hips pressing back because for it being right there at _too much_ House would never say no to the younger man fucking him. Would never say no to Jimmy’s hips rocking forward delicately as his knees found purchase on the mattress for the proper angle to fuck down into him. Could never say no to the slow, rocking thrusts and the tender kisses laid along his skin as the younger man fought to keep himself together.

Wilson shifted, his knees pressing to the outside of House’s thighs as the oncologist leaned his chest against House’s back, his heavy weight pushing House down delightfully as Jimmy’s elbow pressed into the mattress right outside of House’s shoulder for balance as Wilson spread himself over House. And for House _loving_ it when the oncologist fucked him, some wounded noise pulled itself out of his throat weakly at the feel of the younger man’s dick stretching, pulling at his rim. Jimmy pressed his face into House’s neck as he made soft, nonsensical noises of comfort against House’s skin as his hips rocked gingerly against House’s ass.

“Christ,” he grunted, gritting his teeth as his fingers curled sharply along Wilson’s forearm. He tried to breathe through it, feeling his dick twitch where it was sandwiched between his hips and the mattress. Because while it was a sharply edged thing, that was _still_ pleasure burning through his veins. And Jimmy’s cock was pretty perfect, rocking against his prostate heavily enough that House felt like the younger man would saw him in half. And his dick was a traitor, because there it was trying to get hard while it felt like his heart was trying to beat itself apart against the bones of his chest. House reached around to grab at Wilson’s thigh, digging his fingers in and feeling the skin bunch under his nails as his hips tipped up in welcome.

“Too much,” Jimmy asked, his hips dropping down and _stilling_ which was so much fucking worse. Because his rim fluttered and clenched against Wilson’s dick, his muscles tightening almost unbearably. It felt like the exact opposite of walking it off, because the stillness made House desperately aware of the thrum of pain chasing after that pleasure.

House huffed out a reedy noise, his hips pressing back. And how could the younger man expect him to string together words into a coherent thought, let alone verbally express said thought. He swallowed hard, and even _that_ seemed sharply edged. “S’good,” he slurred breathily, pressing his forehead against the mattress, feeling Jimmy’s wrist against his throat. “Fuck me, yeah?”

But there must have been something worn down in his tone because Jimmy’s hips resolutely remained still where they pressed against House’s ass.

“Greg, if it’s too much,” the younger man started, his forearm and palm bracing against the mattress as if he was planning on pushing himself upward. Which sounded like the worst thing ever, because they’d gotten through the roughest part and House was admittedly interested to see how it felt with Jimmy cumming in him when his body felt like it would shatter, splinter apart.

He pressed his nose to Wilson’s wrist, twisting to rub his cheek against that skin. “Wanna feel you like this,” House huffed out, tipping his hips upward. “It’s not too much,” he promised, which was only a little bit of a lie because the longer they just laid there the more heavily the pain bullied the pleasure out of the fore of the sensations. Which just earned him a hum against his throat, Wilson huffing out a disbelieving noise against his skin. But there were those hips rolling back slowly, and House had to bite down on his lip to keep the hiss in.

But then they were back in it, falling back into the agonizingly languid roll of Jimmy’s hips, the almost filthy grind of them as Wilson bottomed out. It should have been too slow, not enough but the pace licked pleasure through him, burning it along his worn-down nerves. And it was a bit like biting down on metal against a filling, something sharp and bright and surprising in the way that compelled another bite. He gasped out a reedy noise, whining as Jimmy pressed him down into the mattress and fucked into him just a little harder, just a little quicker as a broad hand curled around his hip. And miracle of miracles, House was kind of hard as pleasure roiled sharply through him, and he ground his hips down against the sheets. He squinted his eyes shut, whimpering as Wilson changed his angle to fuck down into him deeper.

Jimmy nipped and sucked along his neck, making House dig his nails in harder against the younger man’s thigh because Wilson was bearing down pretty heavily against his prostate with each rocking thrust. And his muscles all cinched up tight, crushing around that hard length slipping into him. The burn of his rim countered against that deep, aching want low down in his guts. He pulled at Wilson’s thigh, because the longer the younger man fucked into him the more House wanted it less like that soft, gentle roll and more like the hard, filthy grind of Jimmy losing control. He whined, his back swaying as best it could as Wilson pressed against him, an eons-old request for deeper, harder, _more_. And Wilson was _always_ happy to acquiesce, because that hungry, primitive instinct in dear, sweet Jimmy’s hindbrain was rarely quiet when the younger man was dicking down. True to form, Wilson shifted and the hot line where their bodies pressed together cooled as the oncologist lifted off House’s back. Jimmy’s knees spread wider for better purchase, and House could feel the flex of his thigh. And the roll was a whole-body thing, driving that perfect dick in impossibly deep, just hard enough that it shocked a whimpered moan out of House’s chest. Because _Christ_ that was absolutely fan _fucking_ tastic. Pleasure had burned away the lingering pain because hurt was _completely_ ignorable if only Jimmy would keep fucking hm like _that_.

It was a slow burn, the feeling of his arousal all culminating in the cradle of his hips as his body tried to get its act together enough for him to get off again. But it was so good. Especially as Wilson dipped his head and bit roughly at House’s shoulder, the younger man’s hips snapping to his. And there was something that hedged at animalistic in the way that Jimmy lost control. Those little, stuttering thrusts melted down into a deep grind as Wilson’s teeth closed along his skin, bearing down into flesh as Jimmy pressed him down into the mattress and fucked into him harder. The oncologist’s teeth closed over another mouthful of flesh as he ground down, dick flexing against the tight clench of House’s ass as he came. And _that_ was definitely something, as Jimmy pushed him down into the mattress and ground his hips down hard as if to wring every ounce of his orgasm out in House’s willing body. There was that sharp snarl of overstimulation as House’s dick ground into the mattress, wrenching what little orgasm his body could muster up from his guts. Jimmy’s teeth gentled along his skin as his hips rocked, the younger man’s face pressed in tight against the line of House’s shoulder. And House couldn’t keep the wounded noise in as Jimmy slipped out, still a little hard and tugging at his overworked rim even if Wilson was trying to be careful. He pressed his forehead against the mattress, sucking in a rattling breath as he shifted in the wet spot. How long had it been since he’d cum three times in a twenty-four-hour period? Jesus _fuck,_ damn Jimmy and his magic dick.

Wilson’s hand smoothed down his back as the younger man dropped kisses along the spine of House’s scapula as House finished off the bottle and let the container fall over the edge of the bed. He couldn’t be bothered to care that the water had Viagra in it, because Jimmy was wringing all the liquid from him. Bright pinpricks of sweet-sharp pain littered his skin where the younger man nipped along his spine. Jimmy’s palm cupped his lower back hotly, and House hummed in approval as he slumped down against the mattress. It didn’t even matter that he was laying in the wet spot. Fucking shouldn’t have been that exhausting, especially since Jimmy was doing all the work. But arousal still burned along his nerves, coiled hotly in his veins. The light, barely-there touch of Wilson’s fingertips sliding along the swell of his ass, ghosting along his cleft definitely wasn’t helping to temper than hungry ache in his bones.

“Jesus,” the younger man breathed out reverently. “You look wrecked,” Jimmy told him so helpfully as his fingers pressed more firmly along his cleft, slipping down to rub a tight circle against his hole. He could feel the residual lube, where Jimmy’s spend had begun leaking out of him. The slide of Wilson’s fingertips along his rim was filthy, spreading the mess before two fingers pressed down into him. House groaned, grinding his hips down into the damp spot under him. Those fingers spread as they fucked down into him, holding House’s rim open.

“Jimmy,” House huffed out, tilting his hips up into that touch.

“One more,” Wilson asked softly, leaning forward to press gentle kisses along the slope of his spine. “One more for me, Greg.” And it seemed impossible, but Jimmy’s tone was soft and broken, full of awe and want, and House screwed his eyes up tightly against that tone. Because it was the tone that would make him give Wilson anything he asked for and then some. Not that he had a chance to agree to what Wilson was asking for as those fingers screwed down in him, tugging at his overstimulated rim and spreading.

He pressed his face into the pillow and _sobbed_. The sound of it cleaved out of his chest as House lifted his hips, ignoring the ache in his thigh because _Christ_ that was good as Jimmy crooked his fingers roughly against House’s prostate. His chest heaved as House pressed back into Wilson’s touch. His cheeks were red, damp and the pillowcase irritated his skin where the fabric rubbed against his face. And it should have been impossible, but he could feel his dick twitching as Wilson abused his prostate in the best possible way. The viscous dribble of precum down his length pulled at the arousal in his guts as House’s cock bobbed eagerly between his legs.

The younger man rubbed idle circles along that bundle of nerves, and House felt that pleasure in the ridges of his fucking _fingertips_. His dick wasn’t even all the way hard, overstimulation sparking along his nerves bitingly but _Jesus_. Whining, House jerked his hips back and the idle circle became a rather pointed rub as the oncologist crooked his fingers roughly. And if _that_ hadn’t been enough, the younger man’s thumb slid against his perineum and pressed up against his prostate through that thin skin. The steady pressure of his thumb as Jimmy’s clever fingers took him apart maybe had him crying harder. It felt like being twisted up, torn apart, scattered to the four fucking winds as Wilson spread his fingers to rub along either side of that bundle of nerves just long enough for the burn of arousal to turn into a simmer. Then those fingers were back, rubbing roughly before nails rasped lightly over the thin skin in a shock of sensory change that had House pushing his face more firmly into the pillow as he gasped and panted, feeling tears slip out from under his tightly closed lashes because _holy fuck it was good_.

House sobbed as pleasure wrenched his breath from his lungs sharply.

And he had _forgotten_ how different, how _fucking soul-shattering_ , a prostate orgasm was. Because it licked scalding hot along his sensory system, snarling down past his deep muscles and fucking _incinerating_ his bones. That was how he died, wasn’t it? Just caught in a whirlwind inferno of pleasure as Jimmy tore him down and built a fucking _altar_ of worship on the fragments of House’s soul. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped, as he bit at the pillow and tried to huff in air, but his lungs wouldn’t cooperate with him. House coughed out a noise that might have been a wordless plea for more as Jimmy’s fingers bore down along his prostate and milked his orgasm out of him. It felt thinner, less viscous but also like it had pulled from every corner of his body, twisted up tightly in his spinal cord before erupting outward like the fucking Big Bang. 

Slumping down, he struggled to catch his breath. House sucked in great mouthfuls of air, rubbing his cheek against the sheets as he tried to slow the pound of his heart. “Christ,” he panted out, feeling like all his inner bits had melted away, leaving behind only his skin. Jimmy pressed soft kisses along his skin, folding against House’s back and sticking with sweat and lube and cum as his fingers pulled free. House whined at that sensation, hissing as his abused rim clenched. He shoved his face into the pillows and tried to breathe through that overstimulated hurt.

“I can change the sheets,” Wilson muttered against the nape of his neck, his breath flaring along the sensitive skin there.

“Don’t fucking move,” House gasped out, trying to melt into the mattress and pull Jimmy down with him. An arm slipped under his chest as the younger man settled more firmly against his back. And House wanted to be disgruntled as the oncologist’s weight pressed him down into the wet spot, but it was so fucking good. How could he complain about that wet spot what with the younger man pressing tightly against him and scattering kisses along his skin. House sucked in a shuddering breath and relaxed under Jimmy’s weight. “Just.” He drew in another breath. “Just give me a minute,” he panted out, eyes already slipping closed to the soft smear of kisses along his neck. “Just stay,” he whispered with his chest broke open to reveal the tender bits hidden behind the cage of his ribs, the plate of his breastbone.

“I’ll stay as long as you want,” Jimmy muttered against his skin, nose pressing to the soft spot behind his ear. But House was already drifting off, uncertain if he’d dreamed that tender declaration.

The sunlight pooled hot and golden over his eyelids, burning like some shitty kid with a magnifying glass burning ants. He huffed out a sigh and rolled onto his back, wincing as his muscles immediately protested. House cracked his eyes open blearily, looking for Jimmy before slumping back into the pillows. Surely there was no harm in closing his eyes again, in snagging a few more moments of sleep. But House hadn’t exactly expected brunch in bed a few minutes after he’d opened his eyes, but there Wilson was handing over a mug of coffee before climbing into bed with macadamia nut pancakes. House balanced his plate on his knees, watching as Jimmy cradled his mug of coffee in his palms as he leaned back against the headboard. It was stupidly domestic, and House would have scoffed, but he still had that hazy, fucked out feeling of being wrung dry over and over again.

“I didn’t know that pancakes were the prize for a weekend of fucking,” he teased, shoving a big mouthful past his teeth. House shifted on the mattress, biting down on the prongs of his fork to keep from wincing because he’d lost track of things somewhere after four orgasms. Those little blue pills were pretty fucking amazing.

“Positive reinforcement,” Wilson muttered, pressing his lips to the rim of his mug with a hum. House could see where his smile cracked around the ceramic. The younger man tipped a little, pressing against House’s shoulder and turning to look at him, his mouth parted. House was pretty sure it was a bad idea to feed someone you had feelings for in bed, but Jimmy looked so good it hurt. And if pancakes, and a little bit of his self-preservation, were all it took for the younger man to give him that tender smile then House would gladly feed Jimmy all fucking day in bed. He cut off a forkful of the pancakes and pressed the bite between Wilson’s lips, watching the fork press and slide stickily against the younger man’s bottom lip.

He managed to wait until the pancakes had been divided amongst them, admittedly unevenly, and all dishware was deposited on the bedside tables before House leaned over and bracketed Jimmy against the headboard. And the younger man’s mouth tasted like coffee and maple syrup as he licked past Wilson’s lips with a moan. He really doubted he’d be able to get it up again if he tried, but still there was something so fucking _good_ about kissing Jimmy. And the younger man kissed with lazy intent, like a promise that at _some point_ he planned on holding House down and fucking into him slow and sweet. He dug his fingers into Wilson’s hair, pulling as he flopped onto his back amidst the sleep-torn covers. And the younger man followed him down, their teeth clicking sharply as Wilson pressed him down.

And how was House not supposed to moan, to grab at Jimmy and pull him closer? As Wilson’s chest pressed against his and the younger man licked into his mouth filthily. House could feel the hardening line of Wilson’s cock against his hips, grinding roughly before Jimmy gentled the kiss. It lessened and lessened until Wilson nipped playfully at his bottom lip and pulled away.

“How about I draw you a bath,” the younger man breathed out, running his fingers through House’s hair lightly. The lines of his face had softened into something tenderhearted and open as he peered down at House, and House’s heart cinched up tight. He swallowed that ache away.

“Feeling guilt for nearly killing me last night,” he quipped softly. Which, what a way to go. _Christ_. Because House was pretty sure that his heart had stopped briefly when Wilson was fucking him. And overstimulation still seemed to spark along his skin.

“You really want me to apologize for getting you off so hard you cried,” Wilson teased, sitting back and somehow twisting his features into something that might have passed for affronted.

“I didn’t cry,” House scoffed. _Much_. Because at some point the previous night, he had _maybe_ sobbed into a pillow, cheeks damp as Wilson rubbed roughly at his prostate until his orgasm had shaken itself free from his hips. And _holy fuck_ his whole body had trembled.

He had definitely cried.

Wilson hummed, leaning forward once more to press against House’s lips before the younger man slipped out of bed. “Mm, well I’ll run you bath anyway.”

Which turned out to be the first of many small, romantic gestures the younger man had seemingly planned. Because House’s bath had been scalding and perfect, empty, but with Miles Davis playing from Jimmy’s bedroom and that sweet, musky scent clawing its way down in his chest. And Jimmy had ordered Chinese by the time House managed to drag his pruney ass from the bathroom, the smell of it heavy with grease and salt that made his stomach growl. They had watched monster trucks and laughed over chow mein, sweet and sour pork, and eggrolls before they had squabbled over the fortune cookies. House had rested against the younger man on the couch, letting Wilson draw soft patterns over the hard plane of his chest, holding him close as they fell into that almost sleepy place. And when they’d finally gone to bed, Jimmy had spooned up close to House’s back and rubbed his tired thigh slow and deep, humming softly against the nape of House’s neck aimlessly.

And House tried so fucking _hard_ not to think about what it meant. Because Sam was coming back from her conference the following day. Coming back to rip their domesticity to shreds. He blinked against the sudden hurt, letting himself relax back into the younger man’s embrace, because who knew how long it’d be until House had that again.

As it was, Sam managed to capitalize on pretty much all of Wilson’s time once she returned from that conference. That had been a week ago. And it was admittedly difficult for House to keep Jimmy’s interest if he wasn’t getting any one on one time with him. Not to mention, it wound him up fairly tightly. He took to skulking around in the darker corners of the sexual internet. But he could only get halfway through most videos before his mind so helpfully supplied Jimmy in place of the leading male, leaving House stupidly hard thinking about Wilson bending him into novel positions and fucking him like House wasn’t just over the hill, not to mention wasn’t missing half the muscles in his right thigh. And he told himself every night that he wouldn’t find himself back on that stupid website, watching people do more athletic things than he had ever thought of, even when he had two working legs. But he still found himself there most nights.

He was trying to get past that though, settling instead for watching _The L Word_ on mute for visuals because he could appreciate the way they moved together without actually hearing them. And the apartment was partially his, so House could sit there in his chair in just boxers and a tee and not feel self-conscious. Not to mention, he really doubted Wilson would come home. It hadn’t happened yet that week, and House wasn’t really holding his breath. So, when the door breathed open and the staccato footfalls of the younger man rattled into the quiet, House was a little surprised. He looked up as Jimmy came into the living room, already sans his jacket, tie, and briefcase.

“No lovefest at hers tonight,” he mocked, even if those words barbed down in his chest, as Wilson toed his shoes off.

Jimmy’s mouth curled at the edges as he folded down on the sofa, pressed his socked feet to the edge of the coffee table. “I thought I would spend it with my best girl,” the oncologist crooned, stretching his legs out while he shot House a shit-eating smirk. “Thought maybe I’d show you a good time.” And that line was terrible and the wink was so much worse but it definitely stirred something in House’s pulse.

“Can’t even be bothered to feed me first,” House huffed out, flipping through channels aimlessly while trying to get himself under control. Because as it was, those words had a very physical effect on him, making his dick twitch in interest as want pooled low in his stomach. Which really wasn’t fair, his body ready to just fall back into bed with Wilson after roughly a week with empty sheets.

The grin Jimmy shot him hedged right there on wolfish, with too many teeth bared under eyes too dark. “I can definitely feed you,” the younger man purred, shooting House another teasing wink. And arousal bolted into House as he thought about what _that_ could mean, as Wilson shoved himself upward and seemingly loomed in House’s direction for a second before heading into the kitchen. House craned his head around, watching as the oncologist bustled about the kitchen, pulling various items out fridge and cabinets. He pushed himself upward and hobbled into the kitchen, sliding his palms along the island’s cool countertop.

“When you said feed me, this wasn’t what I was expecting,” House purred with a leer, watching as Wilson went about making a sandwich.

The younger man glanced up, pausing where he was spreading coarse ground mustard on a slice of wheat bread. “Oh?” Wilson returned his attention to the bread. He opened deli paper, pulling out thick slices of oven roasted turkey and folding it delicately, topping it with lettuce and tomato. “What, you just wanted me to take you to bed,” Jimmy asked as the younger man placed the top slice of bread down, snatching up a big cutting knife and bearing down at an angle before Wilson slid the sandwich over in front of him.

“Well, I was hoping,” House snarked, picking up a half of the sandwich and taking an obnoxiously big bite before dropping the rest of the sandwich back on the plate. “Does this count?”

Wilson smirked at him. “Are you eager?”

“Are you going to meet me in the bedroom or not,” he grumped as House headed for the hallway, just expecting Wilson to follow him.

He limped down the hall, headed for his bedroom as House tugged at the button of his jeans, shoving them down his thighs just inside his bedroom door. He stumbled just a little as he finally managed to get his jeans down and stepped out of them toward the bed. House flopped over onto his back on the bed and regarded Jimmy upside-down as the oncologist appeared in House’s doorway with a smirk. Even at that angle, the younger man looked good where he was leaned against the doorframe of House’s room. The creases of his starched work clothes had softened from a day spent crouching before sickly children, from being a compassionate shoulder for loved ones to cry on House was sure. And whoever had said nice guys finish last hadn’t known James Wilson. Because it was pretty impossible for the younger man to be so close to sainthood and fuck like the Devil and still come in last.

“You know,” he started, earning him an arched eyebrow from Wilson. “I saw this thing on the internet.” House dropped his voice an octave or two, effectively pulling Jimmy’s attention to him as the younger man started across the bedroom. House let his head tip over the edge of the mattress. Gravity pulled at him, teasing the blood flow to his skull as he watched Jimmy prowl closer. Already Wilson was working open the buttons of his dress shirt.

“When you say statements like that, it always concerns me,” Wilson muttered, drawing to a stop just out of arm’s reach. “The internet isn’t exactly the best breeding ground for intellectual ideas.”

“I disagree,” he quipped. “I think PornHub is just chock full of great ideas.”

“I was unaware that you’d stepped up from renting DVDs from that seedy video store,” Jimmy teased, peering down at House amusedly. But only because Wilson hadn’t drawn the lines between the dots yet, the dots that House had placed carefully. Because Jimmy didn’t realize that the bed was the right height, that his head was pretty much level with Wilson’s hips. But House was more than happy to pull the moment out; it would make it all that much sweeter when Jimmy’s eyes darkened to almost black and his mouth parted with want.

“Excuse you,” House scoffed. “The only DVD I need is _Feral Pleasures_ and Santa said he would bring it to me for Christmas as long as I promise to be a good boy.” He faux pouted at Jimmy, earning him a soft huff of laughter.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Wilson folded his arms across his chest. “What life-changing idea has PornHub, of all places, put in motion in that thick skull of yours.” His finger pressed lightly at House’s forehead in emphasis. And House let his head tip downward, exposing the line of his throat, the flex of it as he swallowed purely for show.

“Did you know laying like this opens the throat up?” He kept his tone light, conversational. But it was clear Wilson had finally read between the lines, as his breath hitched marginally. So okay, it wasn’t _fair_ , but Sam could drop to her knees if she wanted, so House was at a disadvantage what with the wrecked thigh and all. And House wasn’t above playing a little dirty if it kept Jimmy in his bed.

Wilson’s fingertips drew delicately along his throat, chasing the feeling of House swallowing. “Oh,” came Jimmy’s voice, soft and breathy, trying for nonchalance and failing. 

“Mm,” he hummed, feeling Wilson press down more firmly along his throat, as if cataloging the rumble of that noise.

“Hmm, that is pretty interesting.”

It took a lot for House to keep his expression neutral. Because the younger man was a _bastard_ and was going to make him say it. And he was a little worried he might choke on those words because it had been bad enough with the idea floating around in his head. Saying them aloud might literally set him alight in a documented case of spontaneous combustion. House oriented himself spatially before smoothing his palms up along Jimmy’s thighs, slipping them around the crease of his legs to tug at that lovely ass, squeezing as he pulled the younger man closer.

“So,” he started, pitching his voice low before tipping his head up to stare at the younger man. Already those eyes were dark, Wilson’s lips curled and bitten to keep the leer in. “I was thinking I could just lay here and let you do all the work.”

“Sounds like a normal night,” Wilson murmured, the pad of his thumb catching at House’s bottom lip, tugging just barely as the younger man peered down at him before stepping back. He just barely caught the whine before it busted past his teeth, because there was Jimmy unworking his belt, fluidly pulling the leather from its loops with a noise that sent arousal snarling down his spine. House was only partially mortified to find his dick was already half-hard, and it jumped in the confines of his boxers as Wilson dropped his belt on the floor. Really the younger man stripping off his belt shouldn’t have had such an impact on him, but there it was sending anticipation sparking through House’s neurons. “And here I was thinking you were offering something else.” Jimmy’s tone lilted upward playfully as his fingers toyed with the button of his slacks.

But two could play that game, as House smoothed his tongue along his lower lip as if he could taste the younger man’s skin there. His teeth scored along the flesh, rolling it into his mouth as House let his head hang down lower to accentuate the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “Do you think you can get off before all the blood rushes to my head,” he muttered, reaching out to tug at those crisp slacks. Wilson went willingly enough, and House slipped his hand up to palm the younger man’s pretty cock through a still closed zipper. “If I let you fuck my throat like this, I mean.”

Jimmy sucked in a sharp breath, his hips rocking into House’s palm lightly. His cock twitched, and House gave it a loving squeeze, pressing more firmly against that hardening length and rubbing his palm upward roughly. And the feeling of Wilson’s dick hardening against his palm sparked want hot and heavy down in his guts, cinching those feelings up tight and pulling them roughly. House wrapped a hand around Wilson’s thigh, pulling him closer until Jimmy’s thighs were bracketing his head. And that pushed arousal down into him, churning it in his hips roughly as the younger man’s hand wrapped gingerly around his throat. “Oh?”

His dick was pretty much hard, and House could feel the sluggish dribble of precum from his slit. His mouth watered at the thought of getting that pretty cock in his throat. House pulled his thumbnail along the teeth of Wilson’s zipper before grasping at the tab and tugging slightly. He never would have thought the quiet burr of a zipper opening would punch into him, hungry and wanting, but there he was with his dick hardening further as House listened to Jimmy’s fly open fully. House slipped his hand through into the opening to press more firmly against that hard length softened with the thin cotton of Jimmy’s boxers. The feeling of it coiled hotly into him, burning House from the inside out as his guts lurched. He pulled his fingers to the button fly, tugging those tiny buttons open until he could pull Wilson’s pretty dick out through the slit. The younger man shuffled forward instinctually, as if dragged by the feel of House’s breath ghosting along his length. And House’s mouth was dry, looking up at that thick length, thinking of it lodged down in his throat, choking him. There was that want fluttering in his stomach again as he knotted his fingers in the fabric of Wilson’s slacks and tugged, encouraging the younger man closer until finally Jimmy was pressed as close as he could get.

And there was something to be said for Wilson like that, with his shirt undone and curtained around House’s head and his dick just pulled through the fly of his boxers with his slacks still up around his hips. House swallowed and let his head tip back further, feeling the stretch of his throat as Jimmy’s slick tip smeared roughly along his lips. His tongue darted out unconsciously, placing a kitten lick at the dribbling slit before his mouth opened. The position was _novel_ , like he had fallen through a mirror or something into some sort of backwards world because Jimmy’s perfect dick was sliding against his hard palate, tickling the soft palate before bumping into his throat. House hummed appreciatively because there was definitely an allure to it. Gravity kept his throat open, pulled the blood to his head, made his thoughts fall quiet under the pound of his pulse. Wilson pressed closer, and there was that clean laundry scent mixing with musky arousal and sweat where House’s face was crammed against Jimmy’s slacks. House slipped his hands around the back of the younger man’s thighs and dug his fingers into the meat there as he hummed around his mouthful of Jimmy’s dick, swallowing to the clear the saliva pooling around it.

The mechanisms of it was off, completely different than a regular blowjob, and House found himself thinking about it too hard to actually enjoy the act. Because he wanted Jimmy rolling his hips forward, fucking his length into House’s throat and House holding on for the ride. But there he was, lifting his head and sliding forward in a halfway bob that felt too rehearsed. He groaned around the younger man’s pretty dick, which was a misfortune in itself. But then there was Jimmy’s broad palm spreading along his throat, his fingers fanning the sides of House’s neck as the younger man looked down at him, his eyes hot and dark.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Wilson breathed out, his tone high and breathy. “Pinch me or something.” And House blinked once in affirmation before he let his eyes slip shut, because while he loved the younger man’s dick, they’d been down that road before and House was definitely _not_ getting choked to death on Wilson’s horse dick. Not that it mattered because then there were Jimmy’s hips rolling forward, pressing deeper agonizingly slowly, his thick tip breaching the tightness of House’s throat. For a startling second, he couldn’t breathe, as that length pressed forward further and Wilson’s starched slacks rubbed roughly at his cheeks where the younger man’s thighs bracketed his face. But then Jimmy’s hips were rolling back, and House could breathe again, and his quiet thoughts were getting hazy around the edges in the best possible way. He felt Wilson shift marginally, leaning forward to spread a hand on the bed for balance as his hips rolled and his length slid past House’s lips.

House groaned, swallowing around as much of the younger man’s perfect dick as he was able, his hands digging into Jimmy’s ass and encouraging him forward. And Wilson’s hand tightened around his throat, until House was without a doubt certain that the younger man was feeling himself fuck down into House’s throat; was feeling the soft, rumbling moans as House hummed along that length; was feeling the flex of his muscles as House swallowed at the rough tightness that followed Jimmy’s dick being crammed way down in his airway. And then Wilson’s hand was shifting, pulling up so his fingers could curl along House’s chin, the webbing between his thumb and forefinger pressing against his bottom lip to feel himself fuck into House’s mouth. The warm, dry pressure of the younger man’s hand rested heavily against the edge of his mouth as if keeping his length at the right angle as Wilson fed House his length. And none of that should have been as hot as it was, but there House was on the bed, dick harder than he ever remembered when giving oral, precum dribbling down his length as he moaned and gagged around Jimmy’s perfect cock. It was slow, cautious as those neat hips rolled forward, rocked further into his throat before pulling back as Wilson’s hand tightened against his throat, making each thrust into that clenching tightness so much more apparent. House whimpered because that aching rawness was _good_.

Wilson smoothed his hand down along House’s throat, his chest, his stomach. It was almost a surprise as the younger man slipped under the elastic waistband of his boxers, his fingers curling around House’s throbbing dick. And laid on his back like that, the motion of Jimmy’s hand was _natural_ in the absolute best possibly way – namely that of a man who practiced self-care at least once a week for the majority of his life. House groaned weakly, his hips lifting as Jimmy’s palm pulled along his length. He sucked hard on the length in his mouth, writhing his tongue as Wilson pressed his hips forward. Wilson’s hand pulled down, popping his foreskin over his cockhead and choking a moan out of House’s chest, making him swallow hard against that sharp burst of pleasure, and Jimmy pressed his dick into that tight clench hard enough that House felt raw and used. He moaned softly, his fingers digging in harder at that perfect ass and pulling in encouragement because he _wanted_ Jimmy to fuck hard and fast into his throat, and there the oncologist was being infuriatingly cautious of House’s comfort and ability to breathe. But honestly, House wanted to choke on that perfect dick, spit collecting at the corners of his lips and trailing lethargically over his cheeks as he moaned and gasped, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air when he could. He dug his nails into the meat of Jimmy’s ass, pulling until the younger man bucked forward, his cock slipping into House’s throat roughly, bumping against the tender skin bruisingly before Wilson pulled back.

He moaned, his eyes slipping shut as he squeezed the handfuls of flesh he had. House could feel tears collecting behind his eyelids as Jimmy bent over him, the younger man’s hips rolling roughly forward as he tugged haphazardly at House’s throbbing dick. He could feel his cheeks flushing as the blood pooled there, leaving his face red as Wilson’s hips jerked forward a little more forcefully. House moaned, letting his mouth fall slack because what was the point of keeping up the pretense of a blowjob if he just wanted dear, sweet Jimmy to ram his lovely cock down his throat. His fingers dug hard into Wilson’s ass, pulling him closer and holding him in place as his own hips jerked up, fucking more firmly into the circle of Jimmy’s grip. House opened his eyes to Wilson shifting in place, his head tipped down to regard House with impossibly dark eyes as only the slick head fucked past House’s lips in what felt like an entirely too gentle motion, especially given that not ten seconds prior Wilson had been thoroughly choking him with that dick. Jimmy’s hand shifted off the bed to brush his cheek, smearing wetness there and House hadn’t even known he was crying. He closed his eyes against that touch.

“Let me know if it’s too much, alright?” And Jimmy’s voice sounded just as low and ragged as House’s throat felt, wrecked and barely held together. House hummed, turning his face just barely into the touch before of Wilson’s fingertips against his skin before it pulled away. Not that he could really pay it that much mind as Wilson’s hips bore forward, his lovely cock slipping roughly over the roof of his mouth and pressing down into his throat and _fucking holding_ as the younger man bent over House’s face and tugged at his erection with a single-minded focus that made House squirm, whimpering and gasping as best he could around Jimmy’s pretty dick as Wilson stroked his length firmly, tugging his foreskin down brightly as the younger man’s palm twisted. And there was his orgasm, wrenching up tightly around his spine and pushing all the breath out of his lungs as House’s hips jerked up into the clench of Jimmy’s hand as he gasped against his mouthful as best he could. His throat closed along Wilson’s length as he swallowed, and it pulled his hips upward roughly against the downside of Wilson’s palm.

And then Jimmy’s perfect cock was slipping backward, rolling out of his throat, and House could breathe again. It didn’t matter though, because his throat felt raw and _empty_ as Jimmy’s dick slid along his tongue. Arousal was burning him up at both ends. House had barely sucked in a deep enough breath before Wilson’s hips rocked forward and Jimmy’s lovely cock was pushing back into his throat, stilling with that precum-slick tip wedged in the tightness there. The lingering edge of discomfort was washed away as Wilson once more took up stroking him roughly, pulling his orgasm along and quickly burning the air from his lungs. His vision had begun to blacken at the edges. He’d _almost_ been there when Jimmy’s hips pulled back, slipping forward teasingly. House coughed out a gasp of want, as Wilson’s lovely cock pressed deeply into his throat before pulling back. His fingers tightened along his handfuls of the younger man’s ass, his nails biting into the flesh as Jimmy’s hips rolled down relentlessly. There was a pretty good chance of House just exploding, because as it was his lungs didn’t hold enough air for Wilson to lodge his dick in House’s throat while jerking him off, and that seemed like such a shame. Or like exactly what the younger man wanted, edging House so surely that his mind was fucking _unraveling_ at the seams because his orgasm was some sharp, spiny thing that relentlessly crawled along his spine and burrowed down in the cradle of his hips.

Wilson pulled back completely, his cock slipping free from House’s mouth, and House sucked in greedy mouthfuls of air he hadn’t exactly missed until that exact moment. The hand that had curled loosely around his erection was gone, and House watched it squeeze around the base of Jimmy’s pretty dick, stroking lazily before Wilson’s hips shifted and slid the messy tip along his lips.

“We can stop,” the younger man breathed out, looking down at him heatedly as Wilson smeared spit and precum against his bottom lip like some fucked up kind of lipstick that House would have, without a doubt, purchased in a store if given the chance. His cock throbbed wetly in his boxers.

“Haven’t passed out yet,” he managed to croak out, swallowing hard. His throat was raw, made all that more apparently as it worked. House swallowed again just to feel that rasp of hurt. His tongue darted out to slip along Wilson’s slit, collecting the tiny bead of precum there before dragging his lips against that hard length. He could feel the thrum of Jimmy’s heartbeat in the pulsing vein.

“Mm,” Jimmy hummed, tilting forward until his cock slipped back into House’s mouth, just barely fucking past his lips. House flatted his tongue against the velvet-steel length, sucking lightly and humming in encouragement. His lips went slack and his head tipped back as the younger man fucked more firmly into the wet heat of his mouth. House moaned around his mouthful, only exaggerating a little as his hands swept over the swell of Wilson’s ass and pulled. His lips brushed against Jimmy’s hand before that hand was once more curling around his throat as Wilson’s hips pressed forward and that tip slipped into his throat. He swallowed hard, feeling his throat work against that tight ache. Starched fabric pressed against his cheeks as Wilson shifted closer, gingerly fucking into his mouth as that broad palm slipped down along his sternum, his stomach.

Jimmy’s hips tipped forward, pressing more firmly into that clench of his throat as his hand closed around House’s neglected erection. House gasped as much as he was able, his hips jerking up into the tight circle of Wilson’s hand. He moaned as the younger man stroked him roughly, the precum-slick slide of that broad palm against his length pulled at his orgasm, but it doggedly remained stuck around his spine. Black dots danced there at the edge of his vision as Jimmy pressed closer, stroking him more roughly. He swallowed hard against that pretty dick lodged in his throat, feeling his eyes sting and water as he reached the end of his air supply. Warm static filled his skull, licking at his thoughts as Wilson’s wrist twisted and finally managed to pull his orgasm free. House groaned, his hips jerking up into the clench of Jimmy’s hand as the younger man continued stroking him, wringing every ounce of his orgasm from his twitching dick. He swallowed hard along the length still wedged in his throat, taking delight in the feel of Wilson’s hips rocking forward into that tightness.

House had expected the feeling of Jimmy flooding his mouth as that pretty dick hardened further against his tongue, twitching in a precursory motion to orgasm. He didn’t expect for Wilson to pull out just as he had geared himself up for the reward of the younger man cumming in his mouth. He breathed out a surprised moan as the first jet of cum striped his chin, his exposed neck. Another caught him there at the hollow of his throat, drooling down with gravity’s pull. His eyes closed quickly because that wasn’t really something that PornHub mentioned, that it _stung_ getting cum in the eyes, but rather it was something that had to be learned the hard way. The feeling of another dribble of viscous fluid caught him at the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and it surprised a whimper from his abused throat. House could feel it trailing lethargically down his face, which was stupidly hot. Hotter than it should have been. It was instinct really for his tongue to dart out, catching where Jimmy’s spend dribbled across his lips. A soft moan cracked out of Wilson’s chest, and that wet, messy cockhead smeared against his cheek, his lips.

“Christ, Greg,” Wilson breathed out, sounding wrecked as his hips tipped forward. The younger man’s thumb dug into the flesh of his lip, and House opened his mouth, letting Jimmy slip back into his mouth with a soft moan. He could feel the oncologist stroking himself through the last of his orgasm, his hips pressing his dick more firmly into House’s mouth, the tip rubbing against the ridges of the roof of his mouth. House sucked, his tongue smoothing along that pretty cock as Wilson finally – _finally_ – came in his mouth.

Not that it lasted particularly long before the younger man pulled away, and the sound of their harsh breathing filtered into the room. Actually, the sound of his lungs gasping in air was a little closer to sobbing than House would ever admit to, but it had been so fucking _good,_ surprise facial included. PornHub had definitely been onto something there. Something had stolen his spine and the blood pooling in his skull was giving House a headache, but the whole thing had been worth it. His tongue darted out, swiping along his bottom lip and catching at the cum dribbling down from his chin. Normally House wasn’t a big fan of facials but that had been pretty much the _perfect_ end to the whole endeavor. Had that counted as a foray into breathplay? _Regardless_ , House made the mental decision right then to let Wilson choke him with his dick _whenever_ the younger man wanted.

“Holy fuck,” he coughed out, finally getting enough of his brain in gear to roll over and stare at the floor as he got his arms under him to push his chest up. House looked up at Jimmy, who was still clutching at the bedside table as if the small stand was the only thing holding him up. “Holy _fuck_ ,” House stressed again, his voice low and ragged with residual arousal, pulling a soft huff of laughter from Wilson’s chest.

“Too much,” the younger man asked, glancing over at him with eyes still impossibly dark, an almost-smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as House scrabbled his way across the bed, wrapping his hands crushingly in the open ends of Wilson’s shirt and yanking until the oncologist’s mouth crashed against his. And House pulled the younger man down on the bed with him, folding them together amid the messy covers. Wilson twisted, shrugging out of his dress shirt and wiping at the mess on House’s face and throat. Which, admittedly, House had kind of wanted Jimmy to lean forward and lick it off with kitten licks, sucking his own mess off House’s skin. But that was maybe a kink for another day.

“Holy fuck,” House breathed out again, letting himself slump against Wilson’s chest. “Are you possessed by some sort of ancient sex god,” he teased as the younger man shimmied out of his slacks and kicked them to the floor.

“I think the term you’re thinking of is _incubus_ ,” Wilson muttered, his hand spreading along the line of House’s throat, his thumb tracking along the abused airway.

“Didn’t sound like a _no_.”

“Yes Greg, I traded three quarters of my soul to give mind-blowing orgasms,” the younger man deadpanned as he continued the gentle massage of House’s throat.

“Totally worth it.”

Wilson huffed out a laugh, his hand spreading along House’s neck and pulling him closer. The oncologist swiped his tongue along House’s bottom lip before pressing their mouths together, licking lazily past his teeth. And House groaned, tipping his head into that kiss. His hands knotted in the fabric stretched across Wilson’s chest, pulling the younger man closer to him. And Jimmy _must_ have been possessed by some sort of sex demon because he was kissing House with dirty intent, pressing up against him like either of them could get hard again so quick. Like he _hadn’t_ just cum all over House’s face. Wilson softened the kiss, turned it into small, sipping presses instead of something deep and filthy.

“Your boxers are wet,” Wilson breathed against his mouth, and House could feel the tip of his smile. “And I’m not sleeping in this bed with you having wet boxers because you’ll rub that on me. And I’m not really up for having your cum flake off on my skin.” Jimmy kissed him more firmly before pulling back. “Go change.”

House groaned as the younger man rolled away from him, taking up on the edge of the bed and folding the covers tightly around him. “Fine,” he bit out, rolling off the bed and heading for the bathroom to clean up. And by the time he returned, Jimmy was already asleep. And House let his fingertips slide along the younger man’s cheekbone, smiling slightly before climbing into bed behind Wilson. He threw his arms over Jimmy’s chest, pulling him close as House pressed his face into the nape of the younger man’s neck.

He made a deal with the Devil right before he drifted off. One to share and play nicely with Sam, if only to keep Jimmy in his bed.

And it only took House a few days – a week at the most – to remember that the Devil didn’t exactly play fair. That the Devil was a sharp-smiled businessman in a suit and tie who lied and stole and reneged on deals that didn’t benefit him. Because House had offered up things he couldn’t make good on. Because House couldn’t share, and he couldn’t play nice. And he should have seen it earlier, because dinner with Taub should have been his first indication something was up but hadn’t been. Stupidly he had just assumed it was his fellow trying to avoid his wife, to keep her from getting suspicious. But Thirteen inviting him out to a lesbian bar – well that had been a harder cue to ignore.

Wilson was pawning him off House realized – sitting there under muted lights and sipping some beer on tap, watching the young woman down martini after martini. And he had bristled, lashed out quietly and somehow confusing his fellow, as she blinked almost stupidly at him before her mind finally offered up a suitable comeback.

“My self-pity’s optional; what about yours?”

Which sent him internally spiraling – because he had no one to blame but himself, didn’t he. House had been the one to boot the younger man from his life that first time, had made that decision to send Jimmy home. And how could he be upset if Wilson wrapped himself up with someone who was clearly not good enough for him. That was the premise of their relationship, wasn’t it. Because House certainly didn’t deserve the oncologist.

But he certainly hadn’t expected Wilson to fork money over to his fellows to pawn him off. But Chase had been rather transparent about the whole thing. Which was how he found himself in a karaoke bar, making a fool of himself as dread pooled low in his belly. Because the whole thing with Sam wasn’t that serious, was it?

“To Wilson” he muttered, holding his beer out for a toast. To that _manipulative bastard_ , because House had to give it to him, Jimmy could pull him into place effortlessly when he wanted. And _that_ was something, wasn’t it. Because House wanted to give Jimmy everything – not that he could say that. Because he wanted Wilson to be happy, didn’t he.

But still, there was really only one reason for the oncologist to avoid him, always had been. And it tended to revolve around the fairer sex. And no matter how many times it happened – the whole Wilson falling into bed with some new fling – it still punched into him. It still _hurt_ in a way House would never admit to. And sitting there, sipping his lukewarm beer in some place that smelled like faded smoke and washed-out piss, he wondered just how long he had. Because he’d been tempting fate, taking more than the universe was willing to give him.

House could take his lumps with the best of them, but it was decidedly easier to handle those lumps when Jimmy was finding his way into House’s bed and fucking him hard enough that House felt it for _days_ after. And he was decidedly picking up the vibe that those days were rapidly coming to an end. Because there was Wilson biting at his lips in thought, running fingers through his hair anxiously, spending his nights in his own bed. And while House was _trying_ to steel himself for that maybe, one-day conversation it was pretty easy to pretend that he _could_ have that. Could have _Jimmy_.

Right until it wasn’t, and the universe shattered through his twisted reality like the fucking Kool-Aid man.

“Sam’s moving in.”

And there it was – House’s world splintering once more. Because those words reached into his chest, squeezed at his heart until everything just _stopped_.

“If it’s before Friday, your assistant wins the pool,” House joked, stuffing those emotions down under his juice and muffin.

“I was just wondering what your plans were.”

Which that sentence didn’t bode well for whatever Jimmy was gearing himself up for. Because it sounded suspiciously like the younger man had finally gotten tired of the whole having his cake and eating it too situation that he’d found himself in – wherein House and Sam both shared his bed. Which should have been preposterous because Wilson had spent the better part of two marriages sharing a bed with someone other than his wife.

“Tonight?”

“In life.” And Jimmy’s arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze decidedly not on House – all of which _definitely_ didn’t bode well for him. “Sam . . . likes you,” Wilson started in, his tone tipping upward in almost question, and House took pity on him – stole those words from his mouth if only so Jimmy, dear, sweet Jimmy, wouldn’t have to say them aloud.

“But she wants me to move out.” His chest felt split open – because it should have been _bros before hoes_ but there it was, being the decided opposite.

“No.” Wilson’s gaze finally lifted, pinned him in place. “ _I_ want you to move out.”

And even if it hurt, House let the younger man continue the conversation, made himself be civil as Jimmy told him things that were clearly more for the younger man’s benefit – even as his heart lost shards of itself with every beat in his chest. As his pulse carried those pieces away to the corners of his body, dissolved them pitifully. Because he wanted it to end properly; he wanted Jimmy yelling and pacing; he wanted to break something and scream back. House wanted there to be hurt and hate and resentment excised from their broke-open chests passionately.

Not to mention, House had a pretty good idea that makeup sex with Jimmy would shake him apart, build him back up all in the same instance.

But that wasn’t something for before work, was it. No. So he let the oncologist say what he had to say, let Jimmy tell them both those pretty lies and spin a web that absolved Wilson of guilt as best he could. And in the end, House went to work. And if he hid from the younger man, well . . . who could blame him, because his heart was still trying to pound itself to hamburger meat.

And it was muscle-memory reflex to find himself driving to _theirs_ after work – because the home called the heart didn’t it.

He rode up the elevator in stewing silence. House let himself in, breathing shallowly as he pulled off his leather jacket, threw himself down in a chair. His hurt brimmed as he stared at that organ – just a hulking mass of wood and metal, of strings and keys. But he would have sworn it was an invitation, a promise just as surely as a ring would have been. House ignore the sound of keys in the door, the tentative footsteps in the entryway.

The shocked look the younger man gave him as Wilson came through the foyer said it all, told House in no uncertain terms that he should have already been gone when Jimmy got home from work. But there he was, sitting on that infuriatingly perfect couch, in what should have been their infuriatingly perfect living room, in what could have been their infuriatingly perfect life . . . if not for Sam.

“Greg,” the younger man started in, and wasn’t that a balm to his hurts. The way Wilson breathed his name out, soft and tenderhearted, as his fingers worked deftly at the knot of his tie in a picture of stupid domesticity. Just his Jimmy coming home from work.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gone soon enough Jimmy,” he mocked, trying desperately to bundle himself into sarcasm instead of hurt as he thumped his cane against the floor and glared at that organ. _That fucking Hammond B-3._ And Jimmy looked as though House had slapped him. Not that House could pay that too much mind, because a day spent avoiding Wilson hadn’t made the whole situation any more bearable. The hurt of it still rattled around his ribs with each breath.

Jimmy just hummed, setting his briefcase down and pulling his jacket from his shoulders. The tension steeped into the silence around them. Because normally they would banter over who’s turn it was to cook, over what to watch as beers were opened. But that was for a normal night. Not a night where everything ended. And House let that pressure push down on him, crush him – wondering which of them would break open first.

“You didn’t want me,” Wilson finally hollered, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned on House. And House let those words pull his attention upward, stick him in place as he looked up at the younger man, wondering how stupid Jimmy could be. Those dark eyes flashed, glimmered wetly as he glared at House. “You didn’t want me,” he repeated, softer – his tone some broke-open thing, vulnerable and cracking at the edges.

House swallowed hard, pushing down all those words he wanted to say as Jimmy rolled his eyes, shook his head, tried pitifully to huff out an amused sound but fell short.

“So, what? You just expected we would keep doing this?” Wilson gestured vaguely between them. “Whatever this is. That I would just keep falling into bed with you? That it would be enough?” The younger man rubbed at his eyes, as if to dissuade a headache . . . or maybe tears.

“I certainly didn’t think you’d take up with her,” House finally scoffed. “She wasn’t a good idea the first time,” he stressed, gritting his teeth because how could Wilson be so stupid. And worse, how had House been so stupid. Because he had seen it, had seen Wilson and Sam trying and had told himself that it was merely Wilson having a fling with someone with two working legs. Had told himself it was fine as long as it was House’s bed that the oncologist found himself in night after night.

But he’d lost count of how many nights Wilson stayed away. Or worst – that he let that bitch stay at theirs, cuddled up in sheets and blankets that should have smelled like House and Wilson but instead smelled like Jimmy and Sam. He’d ignored seeing two toothbrushes in Wilson’s bathroom, and blouses in his closet. He’d pretended that the new health foods in the fridge, hedging out their beer, was just Wilson’s attempt to get them both to eat better, to drink less.

“Yeah? Maybe.” Wilson tucked his hands into his slacks, gaze directed toward the ground. “And maybe it’s not a good idea this time.” House scoffed, and Jimmy just ignored him. “But I’m tired of just playing at a relationship, Greg. I want someone to . . . to love me, not just want to fuck me.”

His heart twisted at that because he _had_ told Jimmy he loved him. And sure, it might not have been the best time for it – what with the whole sticking-a-knife-in-a-socket thing, but he had meant it. He had meant it so sincerely, as those words had dragged themselves from the deep, dark recesses of his chest and breathed into the air. Because it had been air House might have never breathed in again, in a _world_ where he might not have ever seen the younger man again, and those words had just _spilled_ out – desperate for Jimmy to know.

He had _meant_ it, and Jimmy had just hummed, prescribed him more drugs.

Of course, it occurred to him then that Wilson not exactly believing him was his fault. That the younger man overlooking that admission had been born out of years of House manipulating Wilson for Vicodin. And his guts squirmed, coiled in on themselves and tightened.

But he couldn’t admit to that – couldn’t breathe that aloud.

“We can’t all be emotional vampires, Jimmy,” House muttered, glaring at that fucking organ. Because it had started the whole thing, had got him stirred up again, had gotten his heart ground up.

Wilson bleated out a laugh, the sound of it startled and disbelieving before he turned on his heel and headed for the door. “You’re . . . unbelievable, you know that House.” So, they had shifted out of tenderhearted given names to distancing surnames – who cared. His heart definitely didn’t wrench at that. “I just want to be happy, and it’s like you actively go out of your way to keep that from happening.” House definitely didn’t care as Wilson picked up his keys, his coat, as Wilson reached for the door. “And yeah, maybe I’m being stupid, but Sam makes me happy.”

The door shutting behind him was an exclamation point.

No, that was wrong. It was a period. A period on them, whatever they had been. Over, done. Ended quietly.

Once more Jimmy had walked out his door, no backward look. But House hadn’t been prepared that time. He hadn’t told himself some pretty lies, hadn’t steeled his heart to be rent apart. It would have been more apt if Wilson had slammed the door behind him, more fitting of House’s world once more splintering. More appropriate for the shards of hurt digging down into his skin, slipping into his heart so that every beat ached.

House swallowed hard and scrubbed a hand across his face. He pushed himself upward and limped down the hall. On impulse, he pushed his way into Wilson’s room. Not too long ago, he had stepped through that door and climbed into bed with the oncologist. He had been welcomed there. Key word being _had_. Because the room used to smell like him and Wilson, but there was – unmistakably – an underlying floral scent that made Sam’s presence known.

On the bed was a faded tee, and House pulled his fingers along the cracking martlet transfer. The cotton had worn itself soft. It was stupid, but he lifted the shirt and held it to his face – breathing in that scent of sleep-faded bodywash, of body-warmed cologne, of sweet-sweat musk. And well . . . if his fingers curler tightly around the fabric, if he forgot to leave the shirt behind in Jimmy’s room when he left, that wasn’t House’s problem.

The room, the home, the life wasn’t his. Why should he care what became of it.

In his bedroom, he plopped down on the bed with a huff and looked around. The walls were bare, the closet scarce . . . his presence completely eradicable as though he’d never been, all he needed were just a handful of bags. And that stupid, _stupid_ part of his heart yearned to hear the door open once more. For Jimmy to appear at the doorway, lean against it looking worn down and tired but fond – it had happened so often before, what was once more?

But House was prone to ruination, to driving away any-and-everyone in the end. And he had finally done the impossible and driven the younger man away. And all he was left with were the fucking shards of his heart, to piece and glue them back together with bitterness and sarcasm. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, House got to his feet once more and limped over to the closet. He pulled down his duffel and dropped it on the floor, and it gaped up at him, seemingly ready to swallow his whole world up. Because his world had moved on, spun right out of House’s gravitational pull, and sucked down into that blackhole toxicity of Sam. And if he were perhaps overly aggressive as he snatched clothes off their hangers, as he threw them into his bag . . . well, who could blame him.

Never had House thought it would end like that. That he would be forced to leave – his world in shambles behind him. But he was. And he would just . . . go back to his, fall into a bed that knew Jimmy in a biblical sense, and keep on keeping on. He could do that. Well, regardless of _if_ he could do it, House would, because it went without saying that it had to be done.

Whatever it took for Wilson to find what he needed – even if what he needed wasn’t House; even if that hurt infinitely more than he ever thought it would. He would do it.

It had to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up - this whole thing has been pretty canon compliant, so you should know where Part 3 is heading if you're following along.


End file.
